Long Dark Street
by Carina2602
Summary: Blaine Anderson shows up on the Hummel's doorstep with a concussion and broken bones. As a result, secrets are revealed and lives are changed forever.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This started as a fill for an art piece. I'm continuing this:). Thank you for any reviews and favorites.

A/N: Someone asked in a review if I was the same person posting due to some similarities/same lines in this story. The answer is no. :). It's a fill for a fanart and the art had a prompt. All of the fills included the specific lines from the prompt under the drawing. Others filled for the art as well-that is why you may see several stories with the same set up. Though of course we all add different perspectives :)

* * *

**Long Dark Street **

Rows of orange streetlights illuminated the dark streets. Midsized houses awash in different colors and unique architecture dominated the middle class neighborhood. A charming tri-level house with tasteful maroon paint and a beautifully landscaped front yard finally came into sight as Blaine Anderson slowly walked into a small cul-de-sac. Dark windows surrounded the house, indicating a peaceful and restful night for the family inside it.

A quiet sob escaped from Blaine's puffed lips. _Of course _everyone would be asleep this time of night. Two O'clock was an ungodly hour to disturb an entire household. His legs ached painfully as he reached the stone walkway. A water fountain trickled softly right beneath the wooden porch furniture. Its continuous cycle helped calm his nerves.

The long walk from the Greyhound bus stop proved taxing. Blaine had mechanically put one foot in front of the other for _miles _until he reached his destination. Blurred vision, a terrible headache, and a persistently swelling left eye created an arduous journey. The pain in his right wrist had morphed from _slight _to _agonizing _along the way. Adrenaline and fear had pushed Blaine for the first few miles. Once he left Lima city limits and headed for the more remote suburbs, every ache and pain made itself known.

A loud creak reverberated from a straw chair as Blaine gratefully sank down onto a plush striped cushion. Several tacky wind chimes swung musically in the wind. A simple sun and moon wall decoration added a nicer touch to the porch's look. The chimes belonged to Carole Hudson-Hummel.

"_What can I say," Kurt had sighed, "the woman has no taste when it comes to home décor." _

Blaine laughed humorlessly at the memory. Kurt had prolonged the house hunt for weeks: nothing seemed compatible for an active family of four. The younger boy steadfastly refused to live anywhere with shag carpet (Carole's preference), abhorrent duck wallpaper (Finn's favorite), or inside ugly log cabins (Burt's suggestion). Their new house had been a perfect fit for the newly blended family and suited everyone's need. He figured if Kurt didn't make it as a singer or a fashion designer, he had a _very _promising future as an interior decorator or possibly a wedding planner.

Rain fell in a steady, freezing cascade from the northeast. Blaine had trudged through it without really noticing the _cold. _March in Ohio yielded little warmth and dumped a constant mixture of rain and snow. Warmer temperatures would not arrive until April. He shivered against the night and huddled further into the soaked coat wrapped around his torso. The night ticked by. Blaine leaned away from the rain and cried.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled him down into a fitful sleep. Deon Anderson's angry, drunken voice haunted his dreams. A fist slammed against Blaine's face and a steel toed boot connected with his ribs. The scene repeated on an endless loop. Words sometimes joined the bone jarring blows: _fag, worthless, pathetic, and coward. _He begged his mother to help him, but she merely pursed her perfect (Botox inflated) lips and slinked out of the room.

The petite Filipino woman never said a word about her husband's actions. Iris Anderson always looked the other way. Deon constantly cheated on her and criticized everything she did. _I should have known better than to marry outside of my class. Looks like your Filipino genes aren't great: what good is an heir if he can't carry on our legacy? I wish he were never born. I'm giving everything to Alyssa. She's my star—Blaine's just no good. _His father's voice conquered the vivid dreams. Blaine whimpered and rolled away from it. The hurtful words churned his stomach. They had been carelessly thrown around for the last two and a half years: ever since he came out.

Sunlight broke through the gray storm clouds. Blaine sat up and groaned as the humid morning air kissed his skin. The cold cement seeped through his wet clothing. A tall hibiscus plant fell on top of him when his foot accidentally connected with its tan pot. He fought the plant with tender, sore muscles and managed to shove it upright before tightly packed dirt fell all over the front porch.

The commotion did not go unnoticed; he cringed when the front door opened. Kurt Hummel blinked in surprise. The slender sophomore crouched down and frowned.

"Blaine?"

"Kurt," Blaine croaked as he rubbed his aching head, "_shit. _I'm sorry. I wanted to ask you if I could crash here last night, but I…didn't want you to see me like this."

"You look terrible," Kurt informed him and grabbed his elbow, "Did your father do this?"

Blaine winced at the loud, outraged question. All the noise hurt his head. The slight and strained nod took monumental effort. Kurt removed his hand and stared in shock at the precipitation dripping off it.

"Blaine," Kurt's handsome face twisted into horror, "did you _sleep _on my front porch?"

"He," Blaine choked, "he just _snapped_."

Another round of sobs wracked his slight frame. Blaine had no one to rely on except a sixteen year old boy and his (hopefully) generous father. Kurt hugged him as a familiar face peered at them from the doorway. Burt Hummel muttered something incoherently and pushed the door open. Blaine continued blubbering right there on the porch and clung to his friend like a lifeline.

"I don't know what's going on," Burt rumbled and stepped into the bright sunshine, "but I think you should come on inside, Blaine."

"You're _freezing,_" Kurt worried, "how about some hot tea and breakfast?"

Burt hooked a muscular arm around his chest and hoisted Blaine onto his feet. The world titled to the left. His stomach rebelled against the sudden movement and lurched into his chest. Without warning, Blaine vomited all over the cute (and horribly tacky) dog welcome mat.

"Shit," Burt swore, "Blaine, did you get hit in the head?"

He grunted an affirmative answer. It hurt to think. The bright light messed with his vision.

"I think he needs a hospital Kurt," Burt said with concern, "why don't you round up Carole and Finn—and bring me some dry, loose fitting clothing. I think we should call an ambulance."

Kurt agreed and hurried away from the living room. A leather couch waited for Blaine. Burt eased him down gently and immediately started yanking off his wet clothes. He shivered uncontrollably as calloused hands attempted to rub some warmth back into his numb limbs.

"Shh," he soothed and covered him with a handmade afghan blanket, "you're safe now."

"He doesn't want me anymore," Blaine's hitched breathing filled the room, "he _hates_ me."

* * *

**Child of Islands **

Spring break tended to be less of an affair in a small town like Lima, Ohio. If the weather cooperated, kids spent time outdoors and smoked a lot of weed in the park after dark. When the sky dumped snow they hunkered down indoors and played too many video games. The brief first taste of summer vacation should _never _include a trip to the emergency room.

A dozen after school specials about the dangers of drinking suddenly sprang into Kurt Hummel's mind as he sat in an uncomfortable chair besides his stepbrother. Those terrible made for television movies had always ended with terrible tragedy. The kids never heeded any warnings and usually ended up dying in car accidents. Some of the films dealt with issues like kidnapping, sexual assault, or drug addiction. He tried to remember if any of them touched on the subject of child abuse.

_Flowers in the Attic _suddenly sprang to mind. Kurt had rolled his eyes at the ridiculous plot, but read it anyways because he'd seen it on Lima Middle School's banned books list. It turned out to be more depressing and heartbreaking than anything else.

"We can go and get him flowers in the gift shop down the hall if you want," Finn offered, "I bet he'd like that."

"What?" Kurt peered at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You said something about flowers," Finn grimaced, "you don't have to bite my head off, dude."

"Sorry," Kurt sniffled, "I was thinking about _Flowers in the Attic."_

"Isn't that the movie where that brother and sister have sex?" Finn suddenly looked uncomfortable. "That blonde actress from the nineties is hot."

"Kristy Swanson," he corrected as new tears trickled down his cheeks, "I'm trying to remember everything I know about child abuse."

"_Oh_," Finn wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "what about _The Color Purple?_"

"That's spousal abuse," Kurt leaned against his stepbrother's chest, "_Mommy Dearest." _

"_Sleepers_," Finn shuddered, "Puck found it on Netflix and made me watch it. It gave me nightmares—and it made Puck cry. _Puck. _He just said it made him relay."

"I've never seen it," Kurt admitted and used his sleeve to wipe his nose, "but I've seen _Bastard out of Carolina._"

"_People Under the Stairs,_" Finn hugged him tightly, "that one was pretty freaky."

"_This Boy's Life," _he supplied shakily, "I watched it because I heard that there was a gay kiss in it. I actually liked it-especially the part where he escaped from his stepdad and small town."

"I saw that one," Finn huffed, "it was good."

"Oh god," Kurt gasped, "they're not rich. The abusers-they're all these scary, mean stepdads or boyfriends."

"They were rich in _Mommy Dearest," _Finn defended, "oh geez—they never even really discussed that, did they?"

The color drained from Finn's face. Kurt let out a pained cry and buried his face into the other boy's shirt. A dozen people milled about the drab emergency room, waiting to be seen by a doctor. Some had been there for _hours_. The head nurse had taken one look at Blaine Anderson and ushered him away on a gurney before anyone else. _"Sorry," she had apologized to the crowd, "serious head injuries have priority." _

A week ago, Blaine had kissed him so passionately. Now his boyfriend rested somewhere behind the swinging emergency room doors. Burt had gone inside with him since he was a minor. Carole had been pulled away by some police officers. They had disappeared at least an hour before. Kurt wanted to be in that room with Blaine.

"Do you want some more coffee, dude?" Finn asked gently. "I can go to the cafeteria down the hall."

"Yes please," Kurt sat up and rubbed his eyes, "I'll go to the bathroom and clean up some."

"Blaine will be all right," Finn promised, "I've gotten like—two concussions. Puck has had a bunch—I think maybe several from fight club too."

"I'll be back in a bit," Finn squeezed his shoulder, "maybe I can find something healthy down there for you to eat."

Kurt watched his stepbrother lumber around the corner and climbed out of the chair. A few people turned to stare at him as he walked down the hall way. Signs pointing towards the restroom lead him down a long, winding corridor. Several men stepped into the men's bathroom and sent him a withering look. He glanced down the hall to ensure no one looked his way, and stealthily slid into the women's restroom.

Fortunately, the bathroom was empty. He headed straight for a stall and heaved into a toilet. The eggs and fruit he had consumed for breakfast came back up. Blaine had thrown up twice before they had arrived at the hospital. The gruesome sight made Kurt's stomach revolt and quiver for the last two hours. He flushed the toilet and swiped away spit from his chin as he sat down on the porcelain bowl.

Tears returned in full force: how was he supposed to deal with this? Blaine had been _beaten _by his own father. Abuse wasn't supposed to happen in good families. Kids from low income blocks like Puck and Mike had to face things like neglect and abuse. Kurt rocked back and forth. Blaine needed him to be strong right now. The older boy had been there for him through everything: Karofsky, Dalton, Sectionals, Pavarotti, and Regionals. Kurt _had _to be there for his boyfriend through this. They would survive it together.

The bathroom door creaked as it swung open. Black flats clicked loudly against the tiled floor. Kurt froze and slapped a hand over his mouth to keep quiet: no one could find him in here. It wasn't McKinley. The woman had on a nice pair of denim jeans and quickly went about her business. He forced the tears back and listened as she washed her hands in the sink. The door swung open again and he sighed.

"Hello, Candy," a deep male voice greeted, "it's been _quite _some time since we last saw each other."

"Don't call me that," Carole Hudson-Hummel replied coldly, "I haven't been _Candy _since my son was born."

Kurt released a shocked gasp when he heard his stepmother's voice. The shoes should have given her away: he had picked them out for her.

"You mean _our _son," the man corrected, "are you still trying to convince him that his dad died in the Gulf War? I'm surprised Finn hasn't figured it out yet—he's too young for that story to be believable."

"Finn is a sweet boy," Carole sneered, "he needed to have a father figure he could look up to."

"And he does," the stranger sighed, "I think it's time we tell him the truth."

"Do you honestly think I'd let Finn near you," she hissed, "After what you did to Blaine?"

"I got hit in the head a few years ago," the man explained, "I suffered a traumatic brain injury that affects my emotions. It's all documented-and I _never _hit the kid before. Even if Blaine _is _a fag!"

The slur echoed throughout the bathroom. Kurt clutched the ends of his blue scarf in desperate disbelief.

"I don't appreciate that kind of language," Carole spat, "my stepson is gay—and I _adore _him. Blaine seems like a wonderful, kind boy. He's your _son_, Deon!"

"I heard about your marriage," Deon sighed, "I can't quite believe that you would marry a man like Burt-I remember a time when you hated everything about men like him."

"Don't talk about my husband like that," she defended, "he's a wonderful man and good father-more than I can say about _you_."

"I've been a good father," Deon shot back, "I've taken care of Blaine despite all his flaws-and I have _always _provided for Finn. You're the one that chose to break things off with me ten years ago, but you and I _both _know who put a roof over your head and food on your table. Minimum wage wouldn't have covered it!"

"I shouldn't have let you do that," Carole admitted, "you were married. I'm with a wonderful man now, Deon—one that loves me. He loves Finn too. Please don't mess this up for me, Deon. _Please_."

"I have no intention to," Deon confessed softly, "I want you to be happy. I always did love you more than Iris. I think we can reach a reasonable agreement."

"What do you want?" Carole sounded defeated. "I already covered for you like you asked me to. I _lied _to the police for you."

"And I appreciate that," Deon answered, "there's only one thing I want from you: _Finn._"

"No!" Carole shouted. "No!"

"Did your _wonderful _husband tell you that he's over a hundred thousand dollars in debt?" Deon began icily. "He took out a second mortgage to pay for his son's tuition, your wedding, _and _all of his medical bills. It adds up quickly."

"He didn't," Carole cried, "he would have told me."

"Oh, he did," Deon deadpanned, "and I now _own _his debt. I could take everything Burt has. _Everything. _All I want is to spend some time with my son. I don't care what you tell Finn. You can say I'm some distant relative if you like. In return, I will quietly pay off Burt's debt."

"What about Blaine?" Carole whispered. "What are you going to do to him?"

"Oh," Deon paused, "right. I suppose we can figure something out. He can stay at Dalton. I'll get him an apartment."

They talked for a few more minutes and agreed to meet for lunch. Carole promised to bring Finn to their lunch. Kurt's horror grew with each passing minute. Finn would eventually be sent away to _live _with Mr. Anderson. Blaine no longer had a family to go home to: they were replacing him.

Carole left the restroom in a depressed hurry and Deon followed her out. Kurt slowly approached the sinks. The cool water felt remarkable against his dry, reddened skin. Cleaning up tears and remaining specks of drool was a difficult task since his hands shook the entire time. Everything in his life had been turned upside down in a manner of minutes. Nothing would ever be the same again.

A nurse in pink scrubs gave Kurt a questioning look as he stepped out of the bathroom, but he barely noticed it. The walk back to the waiting room suddenly seemed much shorter. Finn smiled at him and handed over a cup of coffee. Steam no longer escaped from the cup. Kurt must have been in the restroom for quite some time.

"The doctors are releasing Blaine," Carole announced as she approached, "he had some x-rays and a cat scan. Everything checked out. He has a cast around his wrist—it's cracked. We'll have to wake him up every few hours, but the doctors think he'll be fine."

Kurt tensed uncontrollably as she patted his knee. Finn smiled and whacked him encouragingly on the back. He stared at his stepbrother. Blaine had a picture in his dorm room of his parents back when they first got married. Finn had the same chestnut hair as Deon Anderson and his height reflected a striking similarity. Kurt studied the other boy's features. The truth stared him right in the face: Finn Hudson was Deon Anderson' son.

"Oh look," Carole smiled, "there they are!"

A tall, black orderly pushed Blaine Anderson in a wheelchair. Burt trailed behind them and carried a large tote bag that had a _St. Rita's Hospital _logo on the front. Blue scrubs and a white robe hung off Blaine's thin body. An ice pack rested in his lap.

"Blaine," Kurt greeted, "want me to push?"

"Sure," he grinned dopily, "they gave me some _killer _pain pills."

"Good to know," Kurt relieved the orderly from his duty and gripped the handles way too hard; "Did you see your father?"

"No," Blaine sighed, "but he came by and talked to the police. I don't _want _to go home!"

"You aren't," Burt grumbled, "you'll stay at our house for a few days until we figure out what's going on with this whole _brain injury _bullshit."

"I've got _Halo,_" Finn chimed, "and Kurt has every musical ever made. We'll be just like brothers."

Carole gulped at her son's eager affection. Kurt saw it from the corner of his eye. Anger boiled inside him. She was going to take Finn away from them. Kurt wouldn't let her. At that moment, he hated her and all of her lies.

"It's bright out here," Blaine complained as they left the hospital, "I'm so _tired. _Kurt?"

"I'm right here," Kurt held his hand, "we'll take care of you, Blaine. I _promise_."

"Yeah," Finn agreed, "I know _lots _about concussions! I got a C + in first aid!"

"That's promising," Blaine groaned, "don't let him anywhere _near _me, Kurt."

"I won't," Kurt whispered, "I love you too much."

Finn grinned and waved at his mom as she went to get the truck. Burt sagged down onto a bench and watched the three boys from under his cap. Kurt bantered with Finn a little as Blaine started to drift back to sleep. Deon Anderson _couldn't _take his family away. Kurt would do everything in his power to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I'd like to say thank you in advance for feedback:) Also, I promise things will get better.

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**Divide the Sky, You and I **

Long-lost relatives only existed in terrible _Lifetime _movies and soap operas. At least, that's what Finn Hudson had always believed. As a kid he had dreamed about his father showing up to school in a fancy limousine and rescuing him from the schoolyard bullies. A man in an Army uniform adorned with impressive medals would climb out of the back and search the playground for his son. Finn dreamed about running into his open arms. The Army had made a mistake and his dad had gotten amnesia from an injury.

Those types of things didn't happen in real life. _Your uncle wants to meet you, Finn. It's been so many years since he's seen you last. _Carole's words followed him as he stepped inside BreadStix. His mom had said goodbye in the parking lot and hugged him tightly. Something had been bothering her for the last few days, but he just chalked it up to Blaine's injuries. Maybe his uncle's sudden reappearance had affected her more than she admitted.

Finn spun clumsily on his heel and stared out the window. The vehicles sitting in the half-full parking lot sparkled under the afternoon sunlight. His mom's red Chevy Malibu still sat near the front row. Her broad shoulders shook as she cried into the steering wheel. He frowned and debated walking back out to the car. Mysterious uncles could wait; his mom hadn't cried like that for a long time.

"Mr. Hudson," a pretty brunette hostess called, "I presume. Your uncle is waiting for you."

Finn blinked numbly at the middle aged woman. The black and white name tag pinned to her shirt said _Mayble. _She smiled and grabbed two menus. He ignored her and looked back out the large front windows. The Malibu had already disappeared from the parking lot. He'd call her after lunch and offer to clean the gutters. Burt had grumbled about them since they moved into the new house, but no one had really put in much effort to get it done.

_She's just upset about Blaine. _He thought about the fight he'd overheard last night. The staircase hid him while he eavesdropped. They had never really argued before, but it sounded positively _vivacious _last night. Carole had accused Burt of being underwater. Finn didn't know what that meant. It might have something to do with the house though. He had heard his mom claim that they had more house than they could afford. Feeding teenagers was expensive; even Burt complained about it. She probably figured their grocery bill would get _really _high since they had to take care of a third teenager now.

"How did you know what I look like?" Finn asked Mayble. "I didn't call ahead."

"Your uncle showed me a picture," she beamed happily; "he seems _very _excited to meet you! It must be so exciting—meeting a distant relative for the first time. He told me the whole story."

"_Oh_," Finn replied stiffly, "yeah. That makes sense."

"There he is," the hostess announced, "in the booth next to the window. He asked for a little privacy. Completely understandable."

A tall, lean man with graying dark hair and sharp features smiled. He stood and offered his wide hand to Finn. The gray suit and pale blue suit heightened his chiseled face. Finn thought he looked absolutely _nothing _like his father. The handshake actually _hurt. _

"It's so nice to finally meet you, Finn," the brunette greeted warmly, "I would like you to call me Deon."

"Okay," Finn agreed as he slid into the booth, "you sure don't look like my dad."

Deon smirked and asked him for details about his life. For a few minutes, Finn summed up the first seventeen years of his life: mom, school, football, Quinn, Rachel, Kurt, prom, and glee club. Deon listened intently and grinned every time he brought up all of his girl troubles. Quinn had already gone dress shopping. The petite blonde made Finn get fitted for a tuxedo and stand for a really long time while an older red headed woman put a tail on it. He didn't understand why a tux needed a tail, but Quinn insisted it would look better on him once the shop owner fixed the sleeves. He had meant to ask Kurt about the tail, but his brother had been _really _preoccupied with Blaine.

The older man peered at him a little prudishly after Finn started talking about the tuxedo for prom and the bridal shop, but he never interrupted. He wondered if he had said something dumb again. Sometimes Mr. Shuester would look at him like that; although warmth and sympathy always filled the teacher's eyes. Deon asked him quite a bit about his girlfriend: what she looked like, her hobbies, and what they did together.

Finn thought the interest in his love life was slightly strange. A voice nagged at him: _this isn't right. _It sounded just like Rachel Berry. The small brunette had some experience with long-lost relatives. Maybe she would know all the right things to say.

"I have something to confess, Finn," Deon sighed and leaned forward, "I'm not your uncle. I'm your father."

* * *

The polished limousine departed from BreadStix at precisely three p.m. Finn's legs bounced in agitation as Lima's familiar streets faded and signs for the freeway started to appear. In a few hours the small town would be nothing more than a distant memory. He had always wanted to leave and secretly feared any number of things may strand him in the boring Midwestern city forever.

At first, Finn had not believed Deon when he claimed to be his father. Mom would _never _lie. The older man had given him a manila folder. A bunch of legal documents and photographs had fallen out of it. Finn pawed through them in a hurried manner, eager to discover the truth. His mom had been in some of the pictures. Deon had been in others. Sometimes Deon had an arm wrapped around his mom's waist. A chubby baby dressed in cute shirts appeared in others. Finn had recognized himself and wept.

_Mom lied _repeated endlessly inside his head as Deon explained the whole sordid story. _I didn't have what you would call a good marriage when I met your mother. _Furious rage boiled in his veins. Finn had only grown up without a father because his mom felt _ashamed_. The last seventeen years had been nothing but fiction. Finn thought about those ashes in the urn and wondered where his mother had found them.

He hated her with every fiber of his being; she didn't _deserve _any goodbyes. Nothing in Lima mattered anymore. Sunny skies and pristine beaches beckoned. He imagined attractive sun kissed, bikini-clad girls smiling at him as they placed a flower necklace around his neck. _Things will be better in Hawaii. _The cellphone in his pocket buzzed as another text message arrived.

"Who keeps texting you?" Deon pressed. "Is it your girlfriend?"

"It's my stepbrother," Finn shrugged and pulled out his phone, "he wants me to come home and help with chores."

"Finn," Deon squeezed his shoulder, "I know it must be difficult, leaving your family and friends behind."

"Yeah," Finn agreed, "but my mom _said _she would explain everything to everyone when I talked to her."

"So what are you going to do, _son_?" Deon frowned. "I'd say that you have two choices; you can answer your phone. If you do that, then you will never really leave this town. You'll hang onto all of your old relationships and come back once the _newness _of your new home fades."

Guilt bled into the anger and excitement. His entire _being _centered around Lima. New Directions would be upset when they lost their lead soloist. Rachel and Quinn would miss him as a friend and a boyfriend. Finn could practically see the disappointment on Burt's face when his mother told him. Kurt had been pretty upset when Pavarotti died; he _definitely _wasn't going to take this well.

"I imagine your stepbrother has already figured things out," Deon continued, "I saw him lurking nearby."

"How do you know what Kurt looks like?" Finn asked with confusion. "I never saw you before today!"

"I drove by your house once," Deon chuckled, "I wanted to see what you looked like."

"Oh," Finn grinned, "yeah. That makes sense. I didn't know that Kurt was there! Why didn't he come over and say something?"

"He probably didn't want to interrupt. As I was saying," the brunette quickly changed the subject, "about your choices. You have a second choice—though it's certainly not an easy one-to simply cut all of your ties to this _nothing _little town. You said that you've always wanted to leave-so _just do it. _Throw your cellphone out the window. _Now_."

As if on cue, the phone started vibrating in his pocket. _Why can't Kurt just leave me alone? _Finn sucked in a deep breath and angrily pushed down on the _accept _option.

"Hey Kurt," he greeted tersely, "I know you followed my mom and me into the restaurant."

"Finn," Kurt sounded upset and winded, "please don't leave."

"I have to," Finn choked out, "I have to go. What if it was _you_? What if _your _dad lied to you all of your life—told you that your mom was dead—when she really _wasn't_? Wouldn't _you _want to spend time with her?"

"Yes," Kurt sobbed, "but, I don't want you go!"

"Bye Kurt," Finn replied, "you'll be _fine. _I'll email you once we get to where we're going, all right?"

"Finn!"

He hung up before his stepbrother could get another word in edgewise. _Kurt will be fine; he's way smarter than I am. _The phone rang again. Finn jammed his fingers against the door handle and rolled down the window.

"I'll go with the second choice," Finn announced as he chucked the phone out the window, "I don't belong here, do I?"

"No," Deon beamed, "no, you don't. You belong with me."

"Yeah," he said and rolled the window back up, "I do. Should I change my last name now?"

"We'll talk about that later," Deon snaked an arm around his shoulder affectionately, "but I think Finn Kelley has a nice ring to it!"

The limo passed budding green fields and old farm houses. Guilt pounded at Finn's heart. The arm around his broad shoulders felt _wrong_. It felt completely different than Burt's muscular one. Mr. Schuester had a thin, reassuring arm. Deon's—(_Dad)_—solid arm had an unfamiliar roughness to it. Finn remembered what his father had said about his marriage. Maybe he just hadn't hugged someone in a long time.

* * *

The Lincoln Navigator abruptly pulled over once it passed a shiny black cellphone. Kurt Hummel blankly turned on the hazard lights and climbed out of the driver's seat. Traffic whizzed past the crying teenager dressed in a cheerful pastel themed outfit. He scrambled on the ground. Every broken piece of Finn's cellphone went into his pockets. The GPS tracking system would not work without his stepbrother's phone.

Kurt shook with grief as he got back into the SUV. Finn had vanished with Mr. Anderson without a second thought. _It hurt. _Brothers stuck together; they didn't leave you. The wedding had meant absolutely nothing. Tears streaked down his face as he floored the gas pedal and headed back towards Lima.

The bright numbers on the clock read six thirty three. Dinner would be late tonight. Maybe Carole had made it already. Burt loved her. Kurt would simply grin and bear it until his stepmother told his father the truth. Blaine needed comfort and support. The curly haired boy had been bereaved and distant for the last two days. Carole had bonded with him—and although Kurt knew the real reasons behind her sudden interest-it meant a lot to Blaine. It would be easy to fake it for now.

An accident on the freeway snarled traffic for a few miles. Kurt cried the whole time and struggled to overcome the debilitating grief. Six thirty quickly turned into seven. The sun set behind gray clouds. A full moon climbed higher into the night sky as he finally parked the Navigator. Kurt hurried out of the cab and furtively wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. The redness would not disappear without a thorough application of moisturizer and facial scrub.

Darkness greeted him when he haltingly opened the front door. A basketball game blared from the big screen television in the living room. Bottles clinked loudly. Burt Hummel sat in the leather recliner. A six pack of beer rested on the nightstand beside him. The smell of pizza filled the house. Kurt froze when he spotted an open pizza box on the kitchen counter and a big box of wings.

"Dad!" Kurt screeched. "Dad! What are you doing?"

Burt didn't even glance his way. The beer bottle graced his lips and he turned the television up a little louder.

"Dad?" His shoes scraped against the hardwood floors. "What's this?"

Notebook paper had been ripped and thrown across the kitchen. Someone had smashed several glass plates all over. Kurt's heart thundered. _Oh God. Blaine. _Had he been here through all of this?

"Blaine!" He hollered at the top of his lungs. "Blaine!"

"He left," Burt slurred from the chair, "just like Carole and Finn. They're fucking _gone_. Just like that."

"What?" Kurt's voice trembled. "Where did they go?"

"Don't know where Blaine went," Burt shrugged without looking at him, "but it's all explained in that fucking letter!"

"It's torn," he shouted, "its torn!"

"Carole lied to me," Burt reached for another slice of pizza, "about Finn's dad. He isn't dead-he's Deon Anderson—_your boyfriend's dad!_"

"Y-You don't mean that," Kurt stammered, "you don't. I'll just get this cleaned up, and—"

"Don't bother," Burt snapped, "there's some money in my wallet. Take it. I think you should call your uncle Larry and have him come pick you up."

"I don't want to stay at Uncle Larry's," he sobbed, "I don't. Dad, you shouldn't be drinking like that-your medication—the doctors said so!"

"I think I'm entitled to a few drinks on the night my wife and stepson leave us," Burt sneered angrily, "and I don't want you here tonight, Kurt. I don't want to do or say anything I might regret in the morning."

"NO!" He screamed. "No, I'm not leaving!"

"I don't want to see your face!" Burt shouted over the television. "Just _go. _Please. We'll talk tomorrow."

Kurt's knees wobbled with sorrow and confusion as he turned and ran from the house. The wallet remained untouched. He bolted back outside and launched himself at the SUV. It took far too long to open the driver's door. A frigid wind picked up as he reached for his cellphone.

"Pick up," he pleaded aloud, "please pick up, Blaine."

"Kurt," Blaine answered after the fourth ring, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Kurt reassured him through his sobs, "it's not. Where are you?"

"I couldn't stay there," Blaine said remorsefully, "your dad found Carole's letter, and he _lost it._"

"Where are you?" Kurt interrupted. "I'll come pick you up."

"I'm not sure," he replied, "I'm in a park."

The older boy's voice shook as he described the deserted park. Kurt started the Navigator and drove southeast. After a few minutes, an empty playground came into sight. Blaine climbed out of an enormous tire sand box once the headlights hit the swing set. Kurt stared at his boyfriend's bare feet and wild, disheveled curls. A loose t-shirt hung off his body. He had on a pair of pajama pants. Nothing else shielded him from the cold temperatures. How long had he been out here?

"It's cold," Blaine complained as he slowly clambered into the passenger seat, "thanks for coming to get me."

"You're freezing," Kurt touched the boy's skin, "here, I have some blankets in the back."

Blaine managed a weak smile when Kurt wrapped a thick wool blanket around his shoulders.

"Thank you," he murmured sweetly, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"We can't go back to my house tonight," Kurt worried, "my dad doesn't want us there tonight."

"I sort of understood that," Blaine shivered, "what are we going to do?"

Kurt bit his lip and thought about their options. Despite what his dad thought, Uncle Larry didn't seem to like him much. He always made rude comments about everything he did and constantly criticized his clothing choices. _No way we're going there tonight. _Larry lived all the way in Columbus. Only one adult in his life would take in two gay teenagers with nowhere else to go.

"I'll call Mr. Schuester," Kurt decided, "he'll let us stay at his place."

A/N: Don't worry, Finn will see the error of his ways!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the feedback.

A/N: I have fixed my pasting error. Sorry for the mistake!

* * *

**Keep the Creatures Safe from Harm**

The rain started after sunset. A tall cottonwood tree knocked against the condo's windows. Basketball players ran across the television screen. The smell of sweet spices filled the condo. Will Schuester picked pan fried lemon chicken out of a small take out carton and dumped some white rice on top of it. Egg rolls and slightly overcooked broccoli sat on the edges of his plate.

Wednesday night always ended with a few beers and Chinese take-out. The Lima Wok delivered as long as someone ordered a decent amount of food. Will Schuester probably spent at least a quarter of his disposable income at the tiny restaurant. Terri had done most of the cooking before the divorce. He'd never really had a friendly attitude towards baking, so he ate lots of fast food and processed frozen dinners.

Will stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. The cellphone rang as he chewed threw the hot food. _Holly. _She had gone on a retreat for a few weeks and often called on drunken whims. Sometimes she'd be sober and they'd talk. He answered the phone without checking the caller id.

"Hey, sexy," Will said around a mouthful of food, "you caught me in the middle of dinner. How's Arizona?"

"Mr. Schuester?" Kurt Hummel greeted uncertainly. "This is Mr. Schuester, right?"

"Kurt?" His student sounded agitated. "What's wrong?"

"I," Kurt breathed into the phone, "we really need a place to stay tonight. Something—something happened. Can we come there?"

"What's wrong?" Will frowned. "Kurt, are you and Finn all right?"

"Finn," Kurt's voice sounded muffled and strained, "he's—camping. He went camping. I was wondering if Blaine and I could stay with you."

"Blaine," Will's heart beat faster against his chest, "your friend from Dalton? Why do you guys want to stay here tonight, Kurt? What about your Dad?"

"He's out of town," Kurt responded slowly, "and Blaine's been staying at my house for the last few days since _his _parents are out of town-my dad and Carole had to leave to take care of a sick relative."

_He's lying_. Will had met Burt Hummel on several occasions. The man had a bit of a temper, but anyone with eyes could see how much he loved his son. Not every father would storm into the school and demand equality for a gay child. Burt had fought several battles on his son's behalf. Will remembered watching over Kurt during his dad's extensive stay in the hospital. The boy had been beside himself with grief. Will had to practically force the kid to eat. What had changed?

"Of course you guys can stay here," Will decided, "do you need me to come pick you up?"

"No," Kurt answered after a brief pause, "I have my car. I'll drive over. Thanks."

"No problem," Will stood and looked out the windows, "you already know where I live, Kurt. I'll get the guest room ready."

"Okay," Kurt sighed with relief, "we'll be there in a few minutes."

The sophomore hung up. Will stared at his phone in disbelief. Something bad had happened. The deep, harsh quiver in Kurt's voice spoke volumes. He had become quite close to the sixteen year old over the past few months. Will had looked after the teenager while his father had been recovering from his heart attack.

A tasteful green comforter and clean sheets almost fell out of the linen closet. Will quickly put the queen sized bed together in the guestroom. Fresh towels and washrags went into the second bathroom. The doorbell rang before he had a chance to raid the fridge for food. He hurried back down the stairs and threw open the door.

Kurt Hummel stood on the front step with reddened eyes and flushed cheeks. Rain soaked the long black waist coat wrapped around his shoulders. Blaine Anderson clutched Kurt's hand like an anchor. A deep purple bruise swelled the brunette's left eye and a white cast covered his wrist. Dirt streaks marred Blaine's red t-shirt. Will blinked in shock when he saw the boy's shoeless feet. What the hell had happened to them? They looked so different from the two boys belting their hearts out on stage two weeks ago.

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight," Will announced awkwardly, "and you already know your way around here, Kurt."

Blaine tentatively followed Kurt inside and kept a firm grip on his hand. Will watched as Kurt stiffly removed his shoes and shuffled towards the guest room without a word. Alarm and worry clouded his vision. Kurt unbuttoned his coat with trembling fingers, promptly lay down on the bed, and yanked the comforter over his head. Will grimaced when broken sobs filled the room. Blaine quickly climbed under the blanket and his dark curls disappeared as he hugged the younger boy.

Will stared at them in confusion, but eventually he shut the door so they could have some privacy and he could have a few minutes to think. The desperate crying pursued him as he walked into the kitchen and retrieved his cell phone. Contacts scrolled by his fingers. Finn's name popped up and he selected the number. The call went straight to voice mail. Will left a breathless message for him call when he got the chance.

Sue Sylvester had gone to her condo in Florida for spring break. For once in his life, he actually wished she had stayed in Lima. Sue might be slightly crazy, but she had a soft spot for Kurt and would have helped him figure out what to do. Emma and Carl would _not _be ideal candidates for doling out any advice. Their marriage had practically ended.

After Emma had sung _Afternoon Delight _with the celibacy club, Will had finally realized that the pretty counselor could never really be the right woman for him. Her obsessive compulsive tendencies could be dealt with and he had no problem with the fact that she was still a virgin—but it had been her sheer _obliviousness _to sexuality that made him honestly see her in a new light. How could they possibly be compatible with each other when Emma promoted an unrealistic and repressive outlook on sex?

Will had seriously reconsidered his perspective on Emma and wondered how many students had received terrible advice from her when they attempted to talk about sex. No wonder the kids at McKinley were uneducated about sex. Holly had made him see that. Will _loved _sex and he'd given all of his firsts to Terri when they were still in high school. Terri had her faults, but she had known much more about sex than he had when they had started dating.

The teachers at McKinley had promoted an abstinence only approach to sex education in the nineties. They discussed sexually transmitted diseases with minimum details, took a pro-life stance on abortion, hated contraceptives, and harshly judged anyone that had AIDS. Will still winced in horror every time he thought about his uninformative sex education.

Emma would not be able to help Kurt in any reliable manner. While he might have called her for advice in the past, she wasn't close to the countertenor. Will barely spoke to her anymore. Shannon Bieste had become his friend and confidante over the last few months. Maybe the tall football coach could offer a fresh perspective and tell him how to solve _this _monumental problem. Will called her and let out a relieved sigh when she answered.

"I'd offer another night at the Honky Tonk," Shannon laughed, "but you swore you'd never go there again after the last time. What's up?"

* * *

Rain repeatedly hit the window in a steady rhythm. Wind howled angrily outside. The cold made Blaine's wrist throb and his throat felt parched from crying. No pain killers waited for him in the kitchen. Blaine wished he had grabbed them before he ran. Kurt breathed heavily against his neck. Tears still trickled down his red cheeks. The pillow they shared would be soaked in the morning.

_I need to pee. _Blaine had been holding it for a while: too afraid to move. Kurt had cried himself to sleep. His boyfriend might wake up if he moved. Tonight had been so _hard_. Worse than the night his father had lost his temper. The Hudson-Hummel household had become a safe haven for Blaine, just like Dalton Academy felt more like home than his own house did.

A caring family lived in that tasteful mid-sized house. Carole Hudson hugged others so easily. She didn't have Xanax behind her bathroom mirror and she didn't hide hard liquor in the orange juice container. When Blaine wanted a drink, he could trust that the milk carton wasn't filled with a strange concoction of peppermint schnapps and rum. Carole baked casseroles and made heart healthy soups. She never called for the housekeeper or the cook when he needed more pain killers.

Burt Hummel laughed deeply and insisted on being involved in his son's life despite their many differences. Blaine had always envied Kurt's close relationship with his father. Deon Anderson had barely acknowledged him even before he found out about his sexuality. Distant respect defined their relationship on a good day and cold disdain existed between them on a bad one. Burt usually had a soft smile and kind words waiting for his son.

Finn and Kurt had history together, but they had overcome their differences and formed a close bond. At least, he'd _thought _they had until today. _Brothers_. Blaine shivered against Kurt and wished for more blankets. The condo wasn't particularly warm. It looked and felt like a bachelor pad.

_Daylight faded into dusk as Blaine pulled out some vegetables and condiments for a sandwich. He dumped plastic bottles onto the counter and froze when he noticed a tall shadow looming over the dining room table. Burt Hummel had an open beer bottle in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. His head snapped around and his blue eyes focused on Blaine. _

"_Did you know about this?" _

"_Know about what?" Blaine took a startled step backwards. "Did I do something wrong?" _

"_Yeah," Burt sneered, "you could say that. What, was this some kind of plan to get closer to Finn?" _

"_Finn?" Blaine queried with confusion, "I don't understand. Why would I want to get closer to Finn?" _

"_Because," Burt laughed bitterly, "he's your brother!" _

_The dishes in his hands clattered onto the floor and broke into pieces. Blaine trembled with fear as Burt took a step towards him and shouted. When the older man ordered him to get out of his sight, he ran. Cold air hit his bare arms. The sidewalk felt like ice against his feet. _

Blaine had run until his feet were numb and crusted with a thick layer of dirt. Once he had finally stopped to catch his breath, he'd realized that he had stupidly gotten lost. A deserted park eventually came into sight. He figured the tire sandbox would at least shelter him from the wind. It smelled like piss, but it offered solitude if nothing else.

The sun had set and winds picked up. Blaine had curled into a ball and sobbed his heart out. Kurt's phone call had managed to kick him back to reality. Everything in their lives had fallen apart in a mere forty eight hours. It wasn't _fair. _Blaine had never intended to tell his father about Kurt, but one of his father's friends had seen them out together at the mall last weekend.

Deon had lost it when he had confronted him. Blaine still didn't understand _why _he had flipped out. His father had known he was gay. Deon was the one that had forced Blaine to go to boarding school so he wouldn't have to see him. _Son, you'll like Dalton. I made sure to check out their bullying policy. Their pretty strict about their rules-unlike Dawson Preparatory. No one will strip you naked, write FAG on your face, and tie you up on the soccer field. Christ. What the hell were you thinking, making a move on Victor Greene? He's salt of the earth-unlike you. _

The angry rant still hurt, even though it had happened nearly two years ago. Freshman year had been rough. Most of students at Dawson had always assumed Blaine was gay, but he had never come out to anyone. No one really bullied him because of it until the night he kissed Vic at a party. Then everything had gone to hell. The students hurled things at him in the hallways, called him a fag, and harassed him after school. Blaine had suffered in morose silence due to his parent's indifference. The more he complained about it, the angrier they became.

The Andersons had been attending Dawson Preparatory since it opened its doors in 1895. Alumni maintained relationships throughout their entire lives and always attended major events at the school. Dawson was not a boarding school, so they promoted a co-ed environment. While Blaine was not the first Anderson to leave the school before graduation, he was the first to be forced out by other students.

"I think they're asleep now." Will Schuester's compassionate voice interrupted his painful reverie. "They just crawled under the covers and went to sleep."

"Has anyone reported this kid's injuries to the proper authorities?" A deep, feminine voice asked. "I'm not sure you should be involved in this, Will."

"What was I supposed to do," Will sighed, "turn them away? I already feel like I never did enough to protect Kurt from Karofsky. The least I can do is offer them a place to sleep tonight. I'm not sure what's going on with Blaine. He's been staying at Kurt's place—I know that much!"

"Don't," Blaine intruded, "don't call any authorities. It's fine."

"I thought you were asleep," Will admitted and stepped into the dark room, "are you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Shh," Blaine countered, "you'll wake Kurt up."

The two adults quieted. Blaine carefully maneuvered out of Kurt's tight grasp and stealthily slid out of the bed. His bare feet left a trail of dirt behind on the clean sheets. Will smiled and patted him reassuringly on the back.

"This is Shannon Bieste," the older man gestured at the muscular woman standing beside him, "she coaches football at McKinley."

"Hi," Blaine croaked, "can I use the restroom?"

"Sure," Will said and lead him into the hall, "it's right here."

Blaine thanked the Spanish teacher for his hospitality and quickly closed the door. Warm water felt wonderful against his aching, dry feet. The dirt ran off his skin and turned the water brown. He thought about washing his sandy hair, but decided it could wait. A rumble erupted from his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since lunch. Food sounded like a good idea.

He rinsed his mouth out with water and slogged into the kitchen. Will and Shannon waited for him at the kitchen table. Some questionable fruit sat in a wicker basket and leftover Chinese food had been piled onto a plate over white rice. Blaine hated white rice-he _always _ate brown—but he didn't comment and sat down. _Beggars can't be choosers. _Hunger persisted and he shoveled every bit of food into his mouth that he could.

"Thank you," Blaine uttered after a few minutes, "I _really _hate to impose, but do you think I can borrow some clothes?"

* * *

Soft lamp light illuminated a single window on the second story. Blaine stared at the sprawling estate and seriously considered running. The early hour promised no staff in sight, an unconscious mother, and zero conversation. The Navigator hummed quietly as he shut off the engine. Rain pelted his forehead, but he hurried onto the long porch and fished out a spare key from under a plant. Kurt had been fast asleep when he left the condo, but Blaine had left him a note and swore to be back before nine am.

Maybe he'd stop on the way home and get breakfast for everyone. Will had slept through his silent departure. They couldn't be here for this. _Kurt _needed comfort, not more pain. Blaine jiggled the key in the side door. A blast of warm air hit him as he stepped inside.

The foyer was dark and gloomy. He shook his head and ventured up the spiral staircase. Deon Anderson had a deep love affair with architecture. Every house he owned had a unique design and stood out. Blaine didn't particularly like older houses, but his father adored Victorian buildings. The house was too hot in the summer and drafty in the winter. Everything from the furniture to the décor had an old, formal impression. It felt more like a museum than a home.

Blaine went into his spacious bedroom on the third floor and started to throw things into a suitcase. Dalton had emptied out for spring break, but he could go back on Saturday. No one would think anything of it. He'd finish out the school year there. Maybe his father would be willing to let him stay with Uncle John over the summer. He lived in Colorado, but he had never cared for the family money or status. Uncle John would let him stay. A summer out west meant he'd be away from Kurt, but he had nowhere else to go. Burt certainly would never let him hang around at their house again.

"You came back," Iris Anderson garbled from the hallway, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not staying," Blaine informed her icily, "I'm packing. I'm leaving. I can't stay here—not after everything."

"He's a _bastard_," Iris casually agreed, "He doesn't deserve a sweet boy like you. He never did."

"Mom?" Blaine wiped tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry I couldn't live up to his expectations."

"Blaine," she laughed, "you don't understand. It was never about _you_. At least, not until you came out!"

"What?" He stared at her as she wobbled into the room and sat on his bed. "I don't understand."

"Of course not," Iris pulled him into a drunken hug, "it's not about you, or even me. It's about his god damned _fortune_."

"What do you mean?" Blaine hated the way his voice cracked. "He was _born_ rich."

"Exactly!" Iris snapped her fingers and patted him on the cheek. "Our parents arranged our marriage all those years ago. I never really cared for him. I _had _to marry him. My parents-that's not important anymore. What's important are _our _prenuptials."

"Your prenups," Blaine frowned, "I'm confused."

"Your father had certain conditions for his inheritance," she continued, "and one of those conditions _his _father had set was that he had to have an heir. A male heir-one that would carry on the family bloodline. What you don't realize is that your father hasn't actually inherited anything yet, Blaine. It's _mine_. All of it! And he's got some of his trust fund, but only about a third of it. The rest won't come until he has a grandchild. That's how the Anderson family fortune has been set up for decades."

Blaine gasped at all of the secrets pouring out of his mother's loose lips. Suddenly everything made sense. Deon Anderson didn't hate him because he was _gay_: he couldn't produce an heir. Somehow, the revelation made Blaine feel even worse. His father had _never _really cared about him. All he wanted was to inherit billions and fondle young mistresses.

"Oh god," Blaine whispered to his mother, "that's why he wanted Finn."

"Exactly," Iris cooed, "you're such a clever boy. I can't believe Deon thinks you're an idiot. I know _all _about his stupid girlfriends!"

"Mom," he began slowly, "Mom, do you know where he went?"

"Hawaii," she replied easily, "one of his mistresses lives there. He has bank accounts—that he doesn't think I know about—in her name there. I doubt even his bimbo knows."

"Mom," Blaine pleaded, "I need to know where in Hawaii he went. I have to help Kurt-he can't lose his family."

"Here," Iris thrust a folder at him, "it's got all of his private information in here. Bastard doesn't know I've got the combination to his safe."

"Thanks," he hugged her gratefully, "I love you."

"I know sweetheart," she returned his affection, "promise me that you won't end up like him."

"I promise," Blaine swore sincerely, "I'll _never _be like dad."

Iris murmured a happy agreement and promptly passed out on his bed. He smiled at her and tugged a blanket over her thin body. For once he didn't care that she was completely wasted.

Their brief, honest conversation had been the only real interaction they had shared for years. Blaine tucked the folder into his suitcase and smiled. The future didn't seem so bleak anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the wait. End of the semester is rough and horrible, but it's over. YAY!

* * *

Woodpeckers tapped away at the roof with their long, obnoxious beaks. Burt Hummel groaned and swore. The stupid birds migrated back to Ohio in early spring and stayed well into fall. They had never been a problem at the old place, but apparently _loved _the newly built house. His head throbbed with each prolonged session of pecking. The birds hopped across the roof as the smell of coffee drifted into the master bedroom.

Pots clattered on the kitchen counter. Something started to sizzle in one of Kurt's fancy stainless steel skillets. Burt could use breakfast. Kurt would make him those organic eggs, cut up some avocados, and push a loaf of sprouted bread at him. Burt grunted at the thought of a full meal-grease always cured hangovers.

The bedroom smelled like hot sweat and vomit. Burt rolled over to his side and opened his eyes with great effort. It hurt to think, let alone move. Eventually a familiar curly haired figure swept into the room and a steaming mug of hot coffee appeared beside his head.

"What's this?" He grumbled. "It better be decent, Kurt."

"It's the stuff from the cupboard," Blaine informed him and started pulling out some clothes from the closet, "I don't know how you like it-but I brought milk and sugar so you can add it yourself."

"Where's Kurt?" Burt queried and sipped tentatively at the coffee. "Why are you bringing me coffee?"

"You must have really done a number on yourself last night," Blaine muttered uncomfortably, "Kurt's not here. You asked us to leave last night, remember?"

Burt's heart constricted dangerously at the unexpected revelation. What had he done to his kid—his wonderful, kind, compassionate kid that deserved nothing but happiness? Then everything came crashing back: buying an armful of hard liquor and two twelve packs of bud; then drinking in the living room after finding Carole's letter. Christ, _Carole had left them_. She had lied to them, lied to Finn, about her son's father. He had not served in the armed forces and died heroically in the Gulf War. Finn shared the same blood as Blaine. _Brothers._

The knowledge had torn Burt apart and shattered his spirits. Carole had left because she felt guilty about lying her way into Lima and their marriage. Burt thought about her checkered past; how she had grown up in the foster system and became an exotic dancer after high school. She had slept around with married men (sometimes for money) in Cleveland and moved to Lima after Finn was born. The small town offered a fresh start for her. Deon Anderson had basically supported her even though he'd been married at the time.

Every new secret in that terrible letter had physically hurt. Burt drank himself into a blind rage and kicked Blaine out the moment he'd seen him. The injured boy didn't deserve it. Then Kurt had come home, and for the first time in his life, he feared hurting him. None of this would have happened if his boy was straight. Thankfully, he had still had some sense left and asked him to leave.

"Where is he?" Burt forced down the bitter, black coffee; "Is he all right?"

"Kurt?" Blaine sighed and ran his hands through disheveled hair, "Honestly? No. He's over at Mr. Schuester's place right now, but he was a complete wreck last night."

"Where are my keys?" Burt rolled over and reached for his pants. "I'm going over there right now, apologizing-then I'm going find out where my wife went. Help me get dressed!"

* * *

"Want some breakfast?" Will Schuester offered as his guest wandered into the kitchen. "I remember that you like to eat a lot of raw stuff. I've got fruit, veggies, fruit juice, eggs, I can make toast?"

"Some fruit is fine," Kurt answered hoarsely, "and I'd like some water. I'm probably close to being dehydrated at this point."

Kurt watched the older man chop some tomatoes into tiny little pieces and focused on breathing. Waking up in the condo had not been a pleasant experience. For one horrible moment, he had thought that he was back in the hospital and the last few months had been a mere dream. Then he'd seen Blaine's beautiful and near perfect handwriting. _Kurt, I had to go home and take care of some things. Don't worry, Dad's not there. I'll be back soon. Love, Blaine. _The _love _part had thrown him, but he really couldn't process their relationship status right now.

"Here you go," Will smiled and pushed a plate forwards, "It's not organic, but I hope it's suitable."

"Thanks," Kurt gripped his teacher's hand, "for letting us stay here last night. My Uncle Larry doesn't really like me very much, and Blaine's had a hard time at home lately."

"It's no problem," Will squeezed his hand, "I'm sorry this had to happen. You've been through so much this year."

"Yeah," a single tear rolled down his cheek, "I don't know why it has to be so _hard_, you know?"

Will walked around the counter and placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders. The teacher had really come through for him when his dad had been sick. Kurt had existed in a stressed out limbo here for several weeks until the hospital had released his father. Mr. Schuester had helped him through it as best he could and had offered whatever comfort he could.

"I'm sorry," Will whispered and pulled him into a hug, "I'm sure your Dad will come around."

"It's not _fair_," Kurt sobbed into the man's horrible blue sweater vest, "it's not, haven't I suffered enough?"

They stayed like that for a while. The comfort felt familiar, but different. Will had dancer arms; Blaine had an athlete's build; and his father had a mechanic's strong muscles. Kurt winced when he thought about his dad. Someone needed to check on him and make sure he took his pills and ate heart healthy vegan meals. Dad had terrible eating habits—what if the recent binge triggered another heart attack?

"I need to go check on my Dad," he realized aloud and let go of Will, "make sure he follows the doctor's instructions."

"Don't worry," Will steered his former student back to the table, "you need to get something in your stomach. Then I'll personally take you home and help you look after your dad, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt agreed pitifully and picked up his fork, "it's a deal."

* * *

Hawaii was _awesome_. Everyone wore sandals and t-shirts, loved the outdoors, and liked friendly conversation. Deon lived in Maui and had a gigantic house. Finn had never seen such luxury; and for a while it felt like some wonderful dream. Vacationers and locals camped right on the beach. Some had nothing but sleeping bags, while others set up portable grills and hauled large tents around. When Deon went to work and Greta taught Yoga classes—and something called Pilots-Finn walked down the wooden stairs and hung out with friendly beach goers.

They barbequed, drank luke-warm beer, and talked about video games. Sometimes sports came into the conversations. Finn learned to surf and found he had a natural ability for it. Riding a wave with a thin board felt positively _exhilarating. _He surfed for hours, soon rivaling even the best surfers on the beach. A few encouraged him to enter an upcoming surfing competition. Finn agreed and asked for some coaching. The surfers loved giving tips.

Aside from friends and surfing, the girls had to be the next best thing about Maui. They were so _different _from girls in Ohio. Island girls—native or otherwise—usually relaxed their clothes and bore bikinis all day. Some girls wore those suit cover things, but rocked them like a dress. Others wore extremely short shorts and _very _revealing tops. Finn quickly befriended a pretty brunette girl named Renata that sort of reminded him of Rachel. She had a lot of opinions, liked to boss him around, and sang Opera.

Of course, nothing prepared him for meeting Alyssa Anderson. The curly haired brunette looked a lot like Blaine but shared none of his pleasant and congenital personality. Alyssa attended college at Princeton and majored in engineering or something _really _hard like that. She surprised Finn on his tenth day in Hawaii. The short, headstrong girl glared at him coldly over breakfast and told her father how wonderful college life was.

She never asked after Blaine. Finn thought that was kind of weird, but Deon had strictly said he shouldn't talk or mention his half-brother because it hurt too much. His father didn't really approve of gay people. Finn hated to think someone as cool and wealthy as Deon could feel that way. Sure, he had exploded and said some mean things to Kurt last year, but they had overcome their differences. Kurt had been an awesome brother. Finn missed warm milk at night and their so-called "lady chats".

It rocked having a gay brother, because he hung out with girls as a friend and knew all of the right things to say to them whenever Finn needed advice. He always helped with homework and never called his stepbrother stupid. Greta snickered at him when he said something dumb; Alyssa ridiculed him. He _really _didn't like the older girl. Breakfast was always an awkward affair and Deon usually disappeared into to town to do something business like right after. Greta went to teach pilots, which left him alone with an incredibly _scary _girl: scarier than Quinn Fabray _or _Rachel Berry.

Finn decided to make himself scarce and go down to the beach. Renata would surely be there by noon and some of the campers probably had breakfast grilling. He'd head there and _hide _from Alyssa until she cooled down some. Maybe she would like him better tomorrow. The wooden stairs leading to the nearby beach creaked under his large feet. Finn descended the stairs quickly and swore when one of the steps broke.

The fall _hurt_. Finn cried out and barely managed to catch himself with his hands. A loud crack filled his ears. Pain radiated through his lower left knee and he swore a blue streak. An early morning jogger heard his cries and hurried over. The tall, lanky black man with an English accent happened to be a doctor. Finn howled in agony as the man poked and prodded at his body. An attractive redhead dressed in a biker's outfit had climbed off her fancy bike and called for help.

Alyssa had apparently heard the commotion and joined everyone on the beach. She smiled sweetly in concern and offered to ride in the ambulance with Finn. Everything blurred into confusing gray for a while. When he came around, Alyssa sat beside him as the ambulance raced down the road.

"Finn," Alyssa hissed frostily, "_that _was a warning. I've worked too long and too hard to earn Daddy's fortune for you to come along and mess it up. Do you know how Daddy found out about Blaine's boyfriend? _I _told him! You don't belong here. Go home—if you don't-next time you might end up _dead. _Understand?"

For a moment, Finn thought he had imagined the sharp words. Then he saw the look in her eyes: _hate_. The brunette smiled innocently as the paramedic turned around and fussed with some equipment. Finn shivered on the uncomfortable stretcher and wished for his mother. _Where was she?_ He had no idea, but he hoped she was happy with Burt. The thought of his stepfather left him longing for the man's strong, comforting hands. Kurt had begged him to stay and he suddenly wished he had listened.

The ambulance faded out again and Alyssa asked a question with feigned concern. Finn didn't register the hospital's bright fluorescent lighting or a team of doctors surrounding the stretcher. The world went away and he dreamed about a picnic he'd shared with Rachel last summer in the park. They had gone after sunset because the sun burned too hotly during the day and humidity flooded the air. Finn gorged himself on kosher dishes and ate vegan cookies as Rachel flipped through _People _magazine.

Finn woke to a dark hospital room yearning for his family and friends-his real ones. Greta slept soundly in the chair beside his bed, but Deon and Alyssa were nowhere to be found. A white telephone sat on the ugly hospital nightstand. Finn reached for it without thinking and called the one person he knew would answer the phone when he called. It rang several times before anyone answered.

"Hello?" Will Schuester greeted tiredly. "I really hope you're not trying to sell me Tupperware again at midnight again."

"Mr. Schue?" Finn choked out as Greta began to stir. "I, I want to come _home_. Joan Crawford is trying to kill me!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Semester is now over:) Thanks for your feedback.

* * *

Help for Pain

It ached to move around too much. Finn had been hit before in football and suffered from a broken arm sophomore year, but he'd never shattered a knee cap before. The crutches were hard to use. The wooden aids took grace and he seriously lacked coordination. Greta wasn't much of a cook, so Finn didn't get to have anything really good since he'd been injured except take out and weird gourmet food.  
Kurt used to bring him warm milk and made really good meals. His mother could cook a mean dinner. Finn missed them terribly; it had only been four days since he left Ohio. Deon ensured his son was comfortable and well cared for, but had to work a lot. Alyssa went with him to the office and glared at Finn every time he tried to get better acquainted with his father.  
The television blared as he played Mario Kart for the hundredth time that day. Greta had gone out with her girlfriends. The doorbell echoed through the house, sending a wave of relief through him. Maybe Renata had decided to come over after all. She didn't really seem interested in him anymore, but it was better than waiting for Mr. Schue to call him back. The Spanish teacher had promised to help him reunite with his family. Finn knew he could count on the older man.  
"I've been waiting for you," Finn jerked open the door, "to come-Rachel!"  
"Finn," Rachel eyed the large house with a critical eye, "I heard you wanted to come home."  
"Oh god," Finn launched himself at his former girlfriend, "I'm sorry-I'm sorry!"  
The smaller girl bended stiffly as Finn hugged her fiercely.  
"You should get your things," Richard Berry said from the porch, "so we can take you home."  
"Mr. Berry!" Finn let go of Rachel and threw his arms around the older man. "You came! I thought Burt was coming?"  
"He," Rachel sniffed, "he's not well. The doctors are closely monitoring his blood pressure. He had some severe chest pains two days ago. Blaine-he told me everything that was going on."  
"I talked to Mr. Schuester," Richard informed him, "and we decided that I would come to get you."  
"Blaine's mom paid for our tickets," Rachel explained, "not that we couldn't afford it, but she wanted to help."  
"Where's Kurt?" Finn wanted to see his stepbrother so he could apologize. "At home?"  
"No," Richard sighed, "he's currently staying elsewhere. He had a fight with Burt. There's something else you should know."  
"He's not well," Rachel glared, "he had a severe panic attack."  
Finn stared at her in absolute disbelief. Kurt was one of the strongest people he knew; it didn't make any sense. Guilt and grief consumed him. The house suddenly felt hollow. Deon would understand if he went home. Sure, he'd been the one to suggest Finn's abrupt departure, but he couldn't really expect to him leave everyone behind like that. Finn felt like an idiot and a jerk for deserting his real family so quickly.  
"I'm sorry," he pleaded again, "let's just go."  
"Don't you want grab your stuff?" Richard inquired. "I'm sure you should take a quick look."  
"No," Finn mumbled, "none of it's mine-not really. I just want to leave."  
"All right," Richard led him outside, "I'll start the car."  
For the first time, Finn could hear the disapproval in the other man's voice. Rachel turned away from his offered hand and stomped towards the rental car.  
"I was disappointed in you when you wouldn't stand up to Karofsky," Rachel huffed, "and now I can barely stand looking at you. I only came because Blaine begged me to help!"  
"I," Finn started brokenly, "have you seen Kurt?"  
"Yes," Rachel seethed, "and he's no shape to be dealing with this!"  
"Oh," he hurried to the car, "what about my mom?"  
"I don't know where she is," Rachel buckled her seat belt, "no one does. The doctor said it's probably a factor in Burt's episode."  
An uncomfortable silence filled the compact car. Finn sat in the back and tried to rub some feeling into his squished legs. Richard started the car, pulled quickly out of the driveway, and glared at him from rear view mirror.  
"Rachel?" Finn reached for her shoulder. "Why did you come here, if you can't look at me?"  
"I did it for Kurt," she confirmed, "and Glee Club. We need your strong vocals for Glee Club."  
"Right," he wasn't surprised by the answer, "did Quinn say anything?"  
"Yes," Rachel removed his hand from her shoulder, "she said that you're no longer a couple, and not to speak to her-ever."

* * *

The little white pills taunted Kurt. An open bottle sat on the kitchen counter and a glass of water rested beside it. He palmed the small pill, downed it in a single dry swallow, and contemplated getting dressed. A panic attack had crippled him two days ago at the hospital. The doctors had said that high stress levels often triggered a first panic attack. Exhaustion drained Kurt.  
Iris Anderson tapped cigarette ash into a coke can as she overcooked some eggs. The orange juice sitting next to her hand probably contained some type of hard liquor. Kurt watched her move slowly around the kitchen and wondered what it had been like for Blaine growing up with her. Had she always hidden alcohol in her drinks, smoked like a chimney, and down several different kinds of pills throughout the day?  
Sunlight flooded the kitchen and warmed Kurt's cool skin. Gentle waves crashed against jagged rocks along Lake Erie's deserted beach. Not many people braved Ohio's bizarre spring weather to camp, boat, or live in their expensive summer homes so early in the year. The surrounding town didn't have much and many of the shops remained closed until May at the earliest. Year round residents had one small grocery store, a gas station, a single restaurant, and a relatively large hardware store. None of the other tourist friendly shops, art galleries, and restaurants opened before then.  
"Eggs will be ready soon," Iris reached for her orange juice and stumbled, "Blaine will be back soon. How are you feeling?"  
"Better," Kurt lied, "where did he go?"  
"Into town," She smiled sloppily, "should be back in a few hours."  
Staying several hours north of Lima had been Blaine's idea. The doctors had said Kurt needed rest and a chance to relieve some stress so he didn't trigger a second, worse attack. Anxiety caused serious health problems. At least that's what the doctors kept telling him. Kurt didn't mind leaving Lima for a while. His dad's chest pains had gone away and his blood pressure had returned to normal levels. An awkward distance existed between them now: something they had never experienced before.  
Burt insisted he hadn't meant to upset him so much and had begged for his forgiveness. Kurt simply explained that forgiveness wasn't the problem; he had it without even asking. It had more to do with the fact that his own father had asked him to leave their home. The one place he'd always felt loved and welcomed. He couldn't quite go back there yet, not when his father could have another rough night and ask him to leave again.  
Kurt had visited his dad twice since he'd come to stay with Iris and Blaine. The older woman didn't seem to have any rules whatsoever, drank excessively, and barely fussed at him. Her disinterest calmed him down. Kurt didn't need to explain his constant desire to sleep, odd eating habits, or nervous habits. She could hardly stand most of the time. A part of him knew she had only taken him in to piss off her husband. They clearly had an extremely volatile relationship and argued incessantly over the phone, through emails, and long phone calls.  
Blaine took care of him. For once he didn't protest the assistance. Kurt had no energy to deal with anything at the moment. His boyfriend cooked when Iris had passed out, dutifully went to Lima each day to check on Burt, and tried to get him out of bed. Mercedes frequently called and asked after her best friend. Kurt usually let her talk about whatever she wanted and deflected every question she directed his way. She promised to visit as soon as she returned from spring break. Rachel promised to get Finn to return home and set out to accomplish her daunting task.  
"Here you go honey," Iris slurred and set a plate in front of him, "I promised my son I would feed you this morning."  
"Thanks," Kurt chewed through a well done poached egg, "I appreciate it-you letting me stay here."  
"Anything that makes my husband rage is a good thing," she beamed, "but I happen to actually love my son, unlike that bastard."  
"Can I ask you a question?" Kurt eyed her as she dumped whiskey into her orange juice. "A bit of a personal one, since Blaine's not here to deflect it?"  
"Fire away," Iris shrugged and downed the juice, "I think it's fair, considering my husband ruined your life."  
"Why do you stay with him?" Kurt waved at the lovely decor. "Blaine told me that your family was wealthy."  
"Yes," she laughed dryly, "well, to be frank, our marriage was arranged. My father wanted a permanent business partnership with my husband's family. We met at a debutante ball."  
"Why did you agree to marry someone you didn't love?"  
"Because," Iris patted his cheek, "you don't say no to my father-or my husband. If you do, you're likely to face some very unfortunate consequences."  
"Like Blaine did?" Kurt sighed. "He told me that his father wanted him to pretend to be dating a girl."  
"It's a part of it," she sat down on a stool beside him, "I'm going to be straight with you here, Kurt. I know that I haven't been a very good mother to my son, but I want to change that. I love him-no matter what-and I don't want him to become like his father. I'm the one that told Blaine to lie to his dad about you."  
The revelation surprised Kurt. Blaine had never told him that. All he had said that morning in the living room was that his father had kicked him out and didn't want him to be his son anymore.  
"I didn't know," he confessed, "why would Blaine's father kick him out for being gay if he already knew it and didn't have a problem with it?"  
"He doesn't care that Blaine's gay," Iris replied casually, "he cares about his fortune."

* * *

The food smelled good, even if it was some kind of strange Asian dish. Blaine piled vegetables on a plate beside funny looking noodles. Burt grunted and stared skeptically at the kid. Guilt and sorrow swallowed every other emotion trying to worm its way into his heart. A boy he barely knew had been making sure he ate right for the past few days because his own son refused to come home. School had started again already, but neither boy returned to Dalton.  
Burt didn't blame them. Kurt was an anxious mess, Finn had moved to Hawaii, Carole had vanished into thin air, and Blaine had too much on his plate. The boy had sort of taken over the house work, cooked him healthy meals, and commuted long distance to help his son and spend the night there. Burt had begged Kurt to come home, but he had refused to do so until he felt comfortable about it again. Normally he would have pushed his son into agreeing. This time he couldn't bring himself to force Kurt to do anything: he had created part of this mess.  
Deon Anderson had ruined their lives in one clean sweep. Carole's absence left a hole in his heart. They had no idea where she had gone and it didn't look like she planned on returning to Lima. Burt didn't know how to move on from losing a second wife and a stepson he loved as his own child. Blaine had confessed the real reason Finn interested Deon Anderson so much. It enraged Burt that a father could throw away his own flesh and blood without a second thought for a chance to secure his birth right. He wondered how the man slept at night, doting on a better (straight) son and a daughter he favored after he'd beaten his other son for being gay.  
Blaine still moved stiffly and sported a cast on top of the bruises coloring his handsome face. Burt had found a new respect for the boy when he realized Blaine had refused to play his father's games. He clearly loved Kurt.  
"Why do you keep making all this Asian food?" Burt grumbled as he poked at noodles that resembled a spider's legs. "I know you're half Filipino, but this stuff isn't what I'm used to, even with all of Kurt's weird health food."  
"I," Blaine flushed, "I learned how to cook from my grandmother, when she was still alive. All she made was native dishes, and my mother wasn't much of a cook, so I can't really make anything except food from the islands."  
"It must have been rough," Burt conceded, "growing up with a man like your father."  
"Isn't growing up hard for everyone?" Blaine defended. "It wasn't so bad once I started going to school at Dalton."  
He wanted to point out that Blaine should have felt completely loved and accepted at home, not at some boarding school. The doorbell jarred his silent, judgmental reverie. Blaine bustled away from the stove and hurried to the front door. A key turned the lock before the teenager could open it. Rachel Berry flew into the house, followed closely by her father Richard.  
Burt didn't know if he could handle the intense, extremely opinionated girl just then. Finn trailed sheepishly behind the pair and shuffled his feet. Blaine grinned happily, welcomed the trio into the house, and offered to get everyone drinks. Finn awkwardly approached.  
"I'm sorry," He whispered so softly Burt had to strain to hear it, "I'm sorry I ruined everything."  
"Finn," Burt instantly wrapped his stepson in a welcoming hug, "it's okay. All that matters is that your home."  
Finn's broad shoulders started to shake as tears rolled down his cheeks. Burt guided him towards the couch while Rachel and Richard went into the kitchen.  
"Thank you," Blaine smiled, "for doing that for me."  
"Your mother paid for the tickets," Rachel hugged him, "and I couldn't put our team at risk by letting Finn stay in Hawaii."  
"I'm going back home," Blaine informed her, "to get Kurt. I bet he'll come back home now that Finn's back."

* * *

Rain drenched the driveway as Blaine parked his car and climbed up the wooden staircase. Silence greeted him once he opened the door. Smoke spilled out of the kitchen.  
"Hello?" He shouted. "Mom? Kurt? I'm back-and I have some really great news!"  
Someone had left a pan of cooking vegetables on the stove. Blaine swore as he grabbed a hot pad from a nearby drawer, dumped the pan into the white sink, and turned on the water. High heels clacked against the tiled floor.  
"I took care of it," Blaine coughed through the smoke, "I know you probably just forgot about it, mom!"  
"Poor, sweet Blaine," Alyssa sighed from behind him, "always willing to overlook our parents' flaws for any bit of affection."  
"Alyssa," he started, "I didn't know you were coming"  
Alyssa blinked at him in surprise as he leaped forward and engulfed her in a hug. The older girl returned the affection. Blaine didn't register the blood on her hands until she moved.  
"What," he stuttered, "what happened? Did you cut yourself?"  
"No," she laughed manically, "it's a shame you came home now. You never were a real threat to what's mine-I made sure of it."  
Blaine wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he never got the chance. Something hard and flat suddenly struck him on the back of his head. Blaine crashed to the floor. Alyssa stood over him triumphantly.  
"Until now," she spat, "with all of this recent meddling."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I think this will be about ten parts or so, not sure yet!:) Again, I appreciate your feedback and hope all of you are doing well and are in good health. My mother is currently in the hospital with stomach issues, the doctors are jerks, and I've spent the last three afternoons/evenings there with her. I'm sorry for anyone that is having major health problems at the moment. What's more, I'm sorry I live in a country that has solely for profit health care.

Tuesday's episode really hit home due to the fact I watched it with my sick mother.

* * *

The World Turned Upside Down

Every good vacation home needed an expansive wine cellar. Bottles hung in their nooks on a winding, curly rack. Blaine blinked as he recognized the wide basement. A deep ache had settled in the back of his head. The hard concrete floor hurt his back and his wrist burned with pain.  
"I see you're awake," Deon Anderson sneered, "and here-even though I kicked you out!"  
"Alyssa," he croaked, "she hit me."  
"I know," his father rolled his eyes, "she's the one that lured me here under false pretenses and trapped me down here!"  
"Kurt," he tried unsuccessfully to push himself into a sitting position, "he was here-where is he?"  
"Not sure," Deon sighed, "and I don't particularly care. This-this is all your fault. I don't understand why you couldn't pretend not to be a fag for one night!"  
"You knew," Blaine hissed between clenched teeth, "you knew I was gay long before I came out-and you didn't care then. Mom told me! Why did you say all those things when I came out?"  
The past two years had been all hard words and cold glares. Blaine tried his best to earn his father's love, but all he had ended up with was more resentment. Deon deflated and sank down onto the concrete near the stairs.  
"I never wanted children," Deon grunted, "I didn't even love your mother. She's frigid. My father respected her family. He wanted those Filipino business ties. Your grandfather had a lot of sway in his own respect. My father needed your grandfather's approval so he could build another resort on their island. My dad proposed marriage. I couldn't say no. I never could."  
"You had me because you had to," Blaine didn't even try to hide his tears, "I read through the stipulations to your trust fund. You get a certain amount of money each year for being married, a bigger sum for having children, and you inherit all of it when one of your sons has a child."  
"I see your mother has been snooping," Deon rolled his eyes, "as usual. Anything she can do to get a leg up on me, she'll take it. I bet you think that this is some sort of sudden realization on her part-that she really is interested in building a relationship with you now after years of ignoring you!"  
"Stop," Blaine's hands quivered as he covered his ears, "I don't want to hear anymore."  
Deon laughed bitterly and kicked over a trashcan. Paper flew out of the plastic bin. Blaine sucked in a nervous breath and scooted further away from his father. A tense silence filled the wide space between them. Blaine shrank into a ball and wrapped his arms around his legs. Water dripped incessantly from an overhead pipe.  
Doubt began to cloud his mind. Blaine contemplated his mother and her uncharacteristic behavior during the last week. She normally stood aside and barely said a word when his father began to shout unpleasant insults at him. Alyssa was never home anymore, though she had been more sympathetic about his sexuality than anyone else had when he'd first come out.  
"Blaine," she'd sighed one afternoon over the phone, "It shouldn't matter to anyone who you love, but it does. If I had known you planned to come out so soon, I would have told you to wait until you were in college."  
He should have listened to her. Waiting would have been easier; no bruises or minor concussions. Pain lanced through his aching head as his father's fist collided with is eye. Blaine closed his eyes and tried not to remember that night. Burying himself in caring for Burt and Kurt had dulled the sharp, constant ache in his heart. Blaine meant nothing more to his parents than dollar signs.  
The knowledge shattered his already fragile mind. None of them had loved him liked he had loved them. Their greed had stolen their souls. Blaine sobbed openly into his trembling arms: too broken to care about his father's cold disapproval.  
"I'm daddy's favorite," Alyssa had hissed at him on his tenth birthday, "just ask him. I'm the oldest-fifteen-and you're a baby."  
Blaine wished he could go back to Dalton's welcoming arms. The boarding school had saved him from becoming just like his father. Wes and David had let him get a small glimpse into their lives. Their families actively participated in their sons' lives and always attended each and every event at Dalton parents got invited to. Every Warbler had, in their own way, contributed to shaping his personality once he had left his former school.  
"I mean nothing to you, do I?" Blaine could hear the bitterness in his own voice. "Nothing at all."  
"What do you want me to say?" Deon ran a hand through his hair. "We never really connected, you know? Alyssa always shared more of my interests. I did still plan to make her my protege, even though I needed Finn to take your place as my son. I didn't want to blackmail Carole into giving him up, but I sort of had to after the trust fund people discovered you were gay."  
"How," Blaine hitched, "how did they know? I'm not exactly at home very often. You could have lied to them."  
"I did lie," Deon grunted, "for you. For the last two years, I kept you at Dalton so no one would suspect I had a gay son. The trust funds are tightly controlled-you know that-and I couldn't risk someone discovering you were never going to give me a male heir. It's why I wanted you to attend the ball. The trust fund officer would be there; his own daughters attend it every year. All you had to do was pretend for one fucking night that you were straight. I don't understand why you had to refuse. You ruined everything!"  
"I refused," Blaine sneered, "because I shouldn't have to pretend to be something I'm not-not even for you. I told you I was gay two years ago. I never expected you to explode when I actually started dating a boy."  
"I wouldn't have cared," Deon acknowledged, "even with your refusal to attend the ball. I could have managed another lie to Mr. Sanchez."  
"What?" Blaine met his father's icy glare. "Wait, I don't understand. I refused more than once. You-you hit me and kicked me out of the house because I wouldn't go to the dance!"  
"No," Deon shook his head, "no, that's not the only reason I was upset. You're so dim sometimes, Blaine. I hit you because I got a phone call that day from Mr. Sanchez. He was interested to know more about you. Someone sent him an email with a video attached to it-a video of you and your-boyfriend-singing that ridiculous duet together at Regionals. He instantly knew you were gay and reminded me about the stipulations attached to my trust fund. I couldn't believe after all of my hard work at hiding you from the public eye, my fortune had been ripped away so quickly. Sanchez knew you would never carry on the family name. He never did like me very much. Bastard sounded positively delighted that you were gay, because he knew I'd never get what was mine."  
The confession stung. Blaine rested his aching head on his arms once more, too emotionally drained to do anything else. The truth hurt more than the bruises marring his skin or the cast around his wrist. His father hated him because he had cheated him out his fortune, not because he was gay. All he cared about was money.  
"I hate you," Blaine whispered to the darkness, "I hate you!"  
"Good," Deon bit back, "because if we survive this-nothing changes, understand? You aren't welcome in my home or my life. I've been honest with you, if nothing else."  
"Completely," Blaine choked out through tears, "what about Finn? Are you going to disown him too, now that he's gone against your wishes?"  
"Finn," Deon laughed, "is a bit dull, but he's already served his purpose. Mr. Sanchez has seen my other son's birth certificate and my marriage license to Carole."  
"But you weren't married," Blaine frowned, "when you met her."  
"No, I wasn't," Deon shrugged, "but Mr. Sanchez didn't know that. At least not until this morning. I suspect Alyssa is the one that has been feeding him all of this inside information for so long."  
His father had a point. Blaine thought about all of the secrets in their family and how they always seemed to be exposed at the worst possible times. Iris had been shunned from elite social circles when she had miscarried suddenly due to an overdose of prescription drugs. Blaine remembered his twelfth birthday being completely forgotten because his mother had been in the hospital. Iris had insisted for days that she followed the prescription instructions and not overdosed intentionally, but no one had believed her. Blaine's heart sped up as he suddenly recalled finding Alyssa digging through their mother's drawers days before.  
"Oh god," he gasped, "Alyssa's been doing this for years, hasn't she? Sabotaged everything-and everyone that could possibly get in her way of inheriting the family money."  
"I suspect you're right," Deon leaned against a concrete wall, "she always did have a ruthless streak a mile wide. I should have seen it earlier."  
"And maybe if you were around more," Alyssa deadpanned from the top of the wooden stairs, "you would have."  
Blaine scrambled further back into his corner as she descended the steps. Her hard eyes watched their father and her lips pursed delicately. Alyssa had never really been around much while he had grown up. Their five year age difference made it difficult for them to form a tight bond. His sister already had an active social life by the time he started school. Alyssa got invited to every party at school, earned good grades, participated in sports, and headed the future business leaders of America at her school. She had been extremely popular and beloved in high school; college was no different. Princeton had nourished her popularity while ensuring her strong ties to certain social circles for the rest of her life.  
"Don't move Daddy," she ordered, "or I'll pull the trigger. I have absolutely no qualms about shooting you right now."  
Deon Anderson backed up a few steps and pressed his well toned body against the wall.  
"I'm sure you would," he admitted, "after what you did to your mother."  
"What?" Blaine balked. "What did you do, Alyssa?"  
He instantly flashed back to the bloody hands he'd seen in the kitchen.  
"Where's Kurt?" His boyfriend was up there somewhere.  
Kurt didn't need anymore drama. He had been toeing a second anxiety attack for the last two days. Blaine couldn't lose Kurt; he was the one person that truly loved him. Their relationship had barely had any time at all to blossom since it began. Blaine couldn't live with himself if anything bad happened to him.  
"Please," he pleaded, "leave Kurt alone. He's got nothing to do with this."  
"Normally," Alyssa's long fingers toyed with the .38 in her hands, "I'd agree, but he clearly knows too much as it is. I need you to come upstairs, Blaine. Don't try anything funny-you go up first. I'll even let you see him before we head out."  
"Where are we going?" Blaine immediately got to his feet. "Tell me what's going on!"  
Alyssa kept the gun trained on his small frame as he shakily climbed the stairs. Blaine stumbled into the kitchen, moaning when the light hit his eyes. The pain in his head increased.  
"Don't worry about our mother," Alyssa said dryly, "she's up to her normal routine, you know. Downed some sleeping pills and an entire flask of whiskey. She's in the living room, sleeping with a lit cigarette."  
Blaine whirled around to stare at his sister in disbelief.  
"You can't," he muttered, "you can't kill them!"  
"It'll be an accident," she shrugged, "a terrible tragedy. Our lovely vacation home burned to the ground by a single lit cigarette. It's not like they were very good parents anyways, Blaine. You're lucky I'm giving you this chance to escape as it is!"  
"Why would you do that?" Blaine croaked. "I know everything now. You sent that email to Mr. Sanchez, didn't you?"  
"Yes," she confirmed, "I did. I needed him to realize that you were gay. Of course, I had no idea that we had a brother, but I intend to remedy that situation immediately. With your help."  
"No," Blaine stepped backwards and hit the kitchen island, "no, I won't hurt Finn. He's our brother!"  
"Half brother," Alyssa corrected, "and who said anything about hurting him? I already did that. No, we're not going to kill him. We're going to make sure he doesn't come between our fortune. You see, baby brother, he needs to understand that I'm in charge now. And he will. You're going to go get him and bring him here-quickly-before the fire starts. He needs to be here for the big event. It will be more convincing this way."  
"And if I refuse?" Blaine's voice quivered. "I can't believe you're doing this."  
"You'll cooperate," she stepped forward and shoved the gun into his side, "head down the hall towards the study."  
Harsh, heavy breathing escaped his lips as he robotically marched down the hall. Alyssa ran her hands through his hair and smiled. The house groaned quietly around them. He didn't want to see what was at the end of the hall. Everything in his life had fallen apart so quickly. So many lies and secrets had been revealed that he couldn't quite make heads or tails of them. Kurt didn't deserve to be a part of this madness; his family and all of their problems.  
"Here we are," Alyssa hummed pleasantly, "open the door, Blaine."  
Tears sprang from his eyes and he complied with her demand. Kurt's prone body lay on the leather sofa in the center of the room. Blaine fell to his knees besides the couch and gripped his boyfriend's hand.  
"Kurt," he mumbled, "Kurt, wake up."  
Terrified blue-green eyes flew open and immediately focused. Kurt arched into Blaine's hands and shuddered when he spotted Alyssa.  
"Blaine," Kurt moaned, "Blaine, I can't feel my legs."  
Blaine pressed his lips on Kurt's cheek and cried, hating the pained words. He had to get him out here and away from his deranged sister.  
"He took too many of those anxiety pills," Alyssa informed them, "enough to knock him off his feet, but it's probably not too dangerous. At least not yet. He'll take more when I give him some more water. It's a shame he was caught in that fire. Maybe if you'd been here, you could have saved him."  
"Don't," Blaine whispered, "don't. What do you want me to do?"  
"Go get Finn," she instructed, "and bring him here. We all need to be here for the fireworks. More convincing that way. Don't tell him I'm here; and don't you dare call the police. If I hear even one siren or see one stranger lurking around here, then I'll put a bullet in your boyfriend's shoulder. Understand?"  
"Yes," he ground out, "I'll go get Finn. Just don't hurt him."  
"Hurry along," Alyssa demanded, "NOW!"  
The gun glimmered in the soft lighting. Blaine jumped onto his feet, reluctantly released Kurt, and fled from the room. The rain had stopped. He slid across the driveway on wet pavement and got into his car. The engine started without trouble. 

* * *

The doorbell rang after midnight. Finn thought it was a bit strange, but wandered across the living room and answered it. Burt had gone to bed hours ago after calling Kurt. His stepbrother hadn't picked up the call, which obviously upset Burt. Finn hated the way Burt's face had fallen dejectedly. He'd made it home in one piece and had escaped from Alyssa's terrifying clutches, but he didn't know how to fix any of this. His mom wouldn't answer his phone calls. Kurt had hung up on him when he'd tried to call earlier. Finn didn't really blame him for that. He definitely deserved the cold shoulder after what he'd done.  
Finn opened the door and blinked when he saw a vaguely familiar Asian standing on the porch. The guy had on a pair of sweatpants, a black hoodie, and sported wild unkempt hair.  
"I know it's late," the stranger began, "but frankly, I don't care. I think you need to come with me."  
"I'm sorry," Finn spluttered, "who are you?"  
"Wes," the teen sighed, "I go to Dalton with Blaine and Kurt."  
"Oh, right!" Finn smiled. "That's where I know you from! Wait, why do I need to go with you?"  
"Because," Wes replied coolly, "Blaine called me in a complete panic and said he was on his way here. However, I think we should head up on our own."  
"What?" Finn frowned. "I have no idea what's going on."  
"Of course you don't," Wes hissed, "Alyssa is a cold, calculating bitch. I'm here for one reason and one reason only: revenge."  
"Wait," Finn pulled on his jacket, "why do you hate her? Did she push you down the stairs too? Why would she do that to you? You're not my brother too, are you?"  
"What?" Wes rasped as they hurried to his car. "Don't be stupid. No, we're not related. I hate her because she ruined my brother's life! And I hate her for the fact that Blaine called-though he wasn't totally coherent."  
"Oh," Finn puzzled, "so we're going to see Blaine?"  
"No," Wes returned, "we're going to save him."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: You remember part one, right? RIGHT? You also remember that I said this fic got weird, right? 'Cause this is what I had in mind when I started this thing. Again, thanks for previous feedback:) PizzaBox? Thanks for your wonderful comment! :)

* * *

I was Free, Free and Aimless

Shallow puddles of water littered the soccer field. The white goalie nets silhouettes stood out in the dark. Blaine sat numbly on cold, silver bleachers outside some kind of school. Strong winds chilled his bones and rattled his aching skull. The pain wouldn't stop. A persistent beep interrupted his constant misery. His cell phone would die any minute and then Alyssa would set fire to their vacation home. Everyone inside the house would perish; including Kurt.  
His mind screamed for him to do something: fix everything. Nothing seemed right with the world anymore. He should never have agreed to go along with any of his father's schemes.  
"You lied," Wes stepped out of the shadows, "to all of us. Why?"  
"I don't know," Blaine muttered, "what are you doing here?"  
"I saved you," Wes informed him, "I came when you called, and I saved you. For what? This? You lied to all of us. I can only do so much to save Kurt, you know."  
"Kurt," Blaine swayed a little, "he's in danger. Alyssa will try to kill him!"  
"You did everything you could, Wes," Finn reassured as he lumbered forward, "we both did. Kurt's doing all right now. He's better."  
"My head hurts," Blaine announced, "and I'm cold. We need to save Kurt."  
"Save him from what?" Finn sneered. "You? I don't want you to wake up. Ever."  
"I think that's a little harsh, Finn," Wes pondered, "I'd like him to come back-so he can explain himself. I had to do a lot of damage control, you know."  
"Hypocrite," Finn accused, "you're nothing but a hypocrite!"  
"You're a liar," Wes chimed in, "I can't believe you choose safety over love. You're a coward, Blaine!"  
"I don't want to be your brother," Finn glared, "I don't. I'll never leave my family-or my brother! My real brother!"  
"I'm sorry," Blaine whispered through the pain, "I'm sorry. I should have refused."  
The phone beeped again. Blaine whimpered at the increased noise. The high pitched sound hurt to listen to. In a desperate effort to make it stop, he yanked out his cell phone and threw it as far as he could. It landed in a nearby puddle with a quite splash. Another ear shattering beep echoed through the field.  
"Please," he cradled his aching head in his hands, "make it stop."  
"You deserve it," Finn laughed, "for what you did!"  
"Wes," Blaine tried, "please, shut it off!"  
"He's waking up," Wes happily announced, "go get somebody!"  
Bright white light exploded across the field. Blaine screamed as it hit his eyes and burned through his skull. Machinery whirred around him, but he didn't see it. All he could see was the horrible light. Blaine couldn't breathe. Hands held him down and hollered for assistance.  
"Get rid of the breathing tube," Wes instructed, "and hold his arms!"  
A pale hand reached for Blaine's throat. The hands held him tighter as he struggled, trying frantically to escape the fist flying towards his face.  
"Take a deep breath, Blaine," Wes ordered calmly, "come on, breathe with me. In, out. That's it"  
He listened to the familiar, comforting voice and complied. Air flowed into his overwrought lungs. Blaine sucked in stale air and grimaced in pain as his arms moved.  
"Mr. Anderson," Wes began softly, "welcome back to the land of the living. I don't want you to try and speak yet. That tube has been inside your throat for a while now and it will hurt if you talk too much. Make sure you speak softly and only when necessary-but wait for a few minutes."  
The hospital room spun a little. Blaine closed his eyes and blinked when he saw a familiar figure standing to the side. Iris smiled crookedly at him. He reached for her; the only anchor in sight. She swayed and gripped his hand in a rare, grand gesture for affection. Blaine whimpered at her touch. Her long fingers stroked his hair.  
"Don't cry, baby," Iris cooed, "I told them everything, you know. What your father made you do. It's fine now."  
Confusion colored his face. He moaned again and after a long coughing fit, managed to croak a befuddled question.  
"What happened?" He wondered where Alyssa had gone. "Where's Alyssa?"  
"Alyssa?" Wes' raised his eyebrows. "Who's Alyssa?"  
"You know who she is, Wes," Blaine rolled his eyes, "she wanted to burn the house down."  
"Alyssa is his older sister," Iris sighed, "she died several years ago in a house fire near Princeton. It's good that he remembers her, right?"  
"Yes," Wes frowned, "but he called me Wes, not Dr. Lee. We'll have to do some testing, but remember, he may have significant brain damage. I suggest you fill him in on what happened and we'll try to see what he can remember."  
Blaine stared at them in complete shock. Brain damage. Bits of memories flashed through his mind; blurry and out of focus.  
"After your father hit you," Iris started carefully, "he took off. I got a phone call from your friend Kurt telling me where you were and how you showed up on their doorstep."  
"Oh god," Blaine groaned, "does he know?"  
"Know what?" Iris paused. "Oh, sweetheart-he figured it out. He saw that letter you had in your pocket, explaining things."  
"He must hate me now," Blaine sobbed as he remembered writing the letter, "I'm sorry."  
"Shh," Iris soothed, "it's all right. Kurt understands that your father made you do it."  
The room became unfocused as he continued to cry; sorry for all of his transgressions against the boy he loved. A specific, clear memory came rushing back. The night his father had called him up to his office.  
_ Blaine's knees shook as he sat on the leather sofa. Talks with his father never went well; they usually ended up just shouting at one another. The antique grandfather clock ticked loudly, filling the room with its monotonous rhythm. Snow banks reflected the cold moonlight beneath the long window pane. Deon stood in front of his son, hands on his hips and an icy stare on his face. A manilla envelope had been left on the coffee table.  
"Blaine," Deon loomed, "I need you to do this for me. If you don't, I won't pay Dalton's tuition next fall. Understand?"  
"Yes," he said through tears, "but how-how are you going to make Kurt like me?"  
The words hurt, because he didn't want to do anything to this boy or his family. Blaine just wanted to stay at Dalton. It kept him safe from bullies. No one at Dalton would beat him for attending a school dance with a boy. Other schools would look the other way because their students hailed from the best families in the state. It didn't matter if some of their students harassed their gay classmate constantly. Blaine had complained to them for months about some of the things they did to him, but no one listened until he had a broken arm and Grayson had a broken spine.  
The manilla folder mocked him. He had looked inside it when his father had instructed him to do so, and had blanched at its contents. Photographs of another family had been placed inside the folder. Detailed information about their lives had been typed up and shoved in it. He had read through them reluctantly, hating every moment of it.  
"I'll make it happen," Deon waved his hand, "when you see him, you'll make your move. You'll use the Warblers to make it work."  
"What?" Blaine shook his head. "I'm not even in the choir! They wouldn't let me join."  
Blaine doesn't need to tell his father why the council had rejected him. Dalton had an anti-bullying policy, but they still shunned him at every opportunity. They could care less about his sexuality or his mid range voice. They disliked him because he didn't really fit into their choir. Blaine could sing well, but they hated the way he performed. The council had said he liked independent music too much and didn't know enough about top forty hits; the only songs they sang. The only people that let him sing and preform these days owned an amusement park. The Warblers barely even acknowledged his existence at all. _  
_"I already took care of it," Deon rolled his eyes, "I pulled some strings. As of tomorrow you're officially in the choir. They already know you can sing, so it shouldn't be such a surprise to see you again. They may even make you lead singer. I can't say for sure-but you'll stay in the choir and until further notice. Understand?"  
"Yes," he answered miserably, "yes. I don't want to, though."  
The confession left his mouth before he could take it back. Deon yanked him up by his shirt collar and shoved him into the wall. Tears rolled down Blaine's cheeks as his bad arm got yanked behind his back. His father breathed heavily on his neck and applied pressure to his trapped arm. Blaine cried out, but the crippling weight remained.  
"Listen," Deon snarled, "son. This is the only way I can ensure my birthright. Nothing is going to make me loose what's rightfully mine. Don't even think about getting cold feet. I can make your life a living hell Blaine if I wanted. Dalton is a privilege, not a right. You remember that. I could send you anywhere. Anywhere! Including a military school, if I wanted."  
"Please," Blaine pleaded, "you're hurting me!"  
Deon abruptly released his victim. Blaine fell to the ground and cradled his arm to his chest. Pain seized his body. His father had never hit him before; he hadn't really hit him now-but the physical confrontation terrified him.  
"I think you understand," Deon glared, "that should you decide to back out of this at any point, I'll make sure to punish you. Severely! You'll fucking regret it!" _  
_ Blaine nodded, hating the way his father could make him feel so young and helpless.  
"Good," his father smiled coldly, "I'll make sure that young Mr. Hummel arrives at your school in the next few weeks. I'll correspond with you during your exploits. I want you to seduce Kurt."  
"Yes sir," Blaine said bitterly, "I'll get close to Kurt; but I'm not sure why I can't just befriend Finn."  
"Because," Deon grinned, "Finn is the key to my fortune. But I told you that. No-I want you to seduce Kurt because you can't seduce Finn. Blaine-you're going to secure my future when you do. Get close to his family."  
"Close to Finn, you mean," Blaine spat, "you want me to befriend him so you can use him, right?"  
"Essentially," Deon agreed with a dark glare, "yes. I need Finn right now, but Carole would never let him near me. I have to be able to prove that he's my son. I can do that with your help. I make Carole's family suffer, she'll come around. So yes, I need you to seduce Kurt." _  
Doctors swarmed around his bed. Once some of the commotion died down a worn look colored Dr. Lee's expressive features. Blaine didn't understand why he looked just like Wesley Montgomery.  
"Blaine," Dr. Lee began softly, "do you know what month it is?"  
"March," Blaine confirmed slowly, "we just lost at Regionals."  
Iris shook her head and pointed at the window. It took momentous effort, but Blaine managed to painstakingly turn his head slightly left. Snow covered the ground. Nothing unusual: Western Ohio often had serious spring storms that dumped heavy, wet powder. The colorful lights adorning every surrounding building made Blaine's heart drop into his stomach. Christmas decorations hung loosely from a store front's window. _Merry Christmas!_ Blaine blinked at the cheesy display and frowned.  
"How long have I been here, Mom?" Blaine hated how small and pathetic his question sounded. "How long?"  
"You arrived here in March," Dr. Lee replied sympathetically, "with a serious concussion, a broken wrist, and a cracked rib. You had some complications from the head injury due to the fact that you walked in the rain for so long and were hypothermic when you came in. Once we examined you, it was apparent that you had significant swelling in your brain. You slipped into a coma and are just now coming out of it. I know this is a lot to take in right now, but it's remarkable you woke up at all."  
"Oh," Blaine mumbled through tears, "how long?"  
"It's December," Iris lowered her voice, "two-thousand thirteen."  
"What?" Blaine croaked incredulously. "Are you telling me that I've been here for two years?"  
"Yes," Dr. Lee affirmed, "your mother is telling the truth."  
"I missed my birthday," Blaine realized, "I missed my own eighteenth birthday."  
A multitude of feelings swirled within his body. Two years had been taken from him: stolen. Blaine should be in college, discovering the world through over priced textbooks and mid-afternoon classes. Prom had come and gone without notice. So had graduation; every Warbler he knew on a personal basis would be out of Dalton's polished halls. They would be in Ivy League schools or overseas at prestigious institutions. No one except the underclassman would be there anymore.  
"I want to see Kurt," Blaine decided, "please."  
"I'll call him," Iris promised, "I'm sure he'll come over for a visit. We've become quite close, you know. I adore that boy."  
Of course someone had been looking after his mother. Iris functioned on a constant supply of alcohol and narcotic prescription drugs. She could hardly handle everything by herself. Blaine noticed her shoes; the tasteful designer outfit without any stains on it; and her neatly styled hair. Clearly Kurt had been helping her. Blaine would thank him when he came.  
"Where," he hissed, "where's dad?"  
"In prison," Iris smiled, "the Hummels called the police when you showed up on their doorstep in that condition. They arrested him after they found him about to board a plane to Mexico."  
"What about his brain injury?" Blaine queried nervously, "won't they just let him off? That's always what happened in the past."  
"What brain injury?" Iris puzzled. "Your father never had a brain injury."  
"I think that's enough information to process for one day," Dr. Lee interrupted, "I believe you should rest. We can discuss more details and you can get caught up on recent events later on. Mrs. Anderson, can I talk to you for a moment in private?"  
They patted Blaine on his hands and stepped out of the room. Whispered conversation drifted his way, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It probably didn't matter. Two years had gone by without him and he didn't know how to handle it. What would people say when they found out he couldn't discuss current events? He'd have to finish high school even though he was nineteen years old. Missing one birthday was bad enough, but missing two made his eyes well up like a water fountain.  
Eventually his mother came back, though she wouldn't answer anymore of his questions. Dr. Lee disappeared shortly afterwards with promises that they would meet tomorrow. Blaine fell asleep again before he had a chance to ask another question about his missing chunk of time. When he woke Iris had gone, replaced by a familiar blue eyed boy reading sheet music.  
Kurt looked older than Blaine remembered. Dark circles pooled under his eyes and a tight frown line had formed near the corners of his mouth. A bright purple shirt and designer jeans shaped Kurt's slim body. Blaine offered him a weak smile, knowing that he had no right.  
"Hey," he whispered warily, "I'm sorry."  
"I know you are," Kurt dropped his head into his hands, "I know what happened. I just want to know one thing."  
"What?" Blaine paused. "Ask. Anything you want, I'll tell."  
"Was any of it real?" Tears trailed down Kurt's pale cheeks. "I mean us. What we had together. Was it real?"  
Blaine had done this: made him cry and think he had no interest in him whatsoever.  
"What we had between us?" Blaine looked away. "That was real. I really didn't count on it, but you just sort of took over my life and I couldn't help but fall for you. I didn't want to do it!"  
"I know," Kurt replied, "I know. Your mother-she's really been there for me through everything. I read your diary. I know I shouldn't have, but you were in a coma the doctors thought you'd wake up from, and it was just sort of there in my room. I couldn't resist. I know your dad forced you to help him-befriend-me and destroy our family. I know you didn't want to do it."  
"Wait," Blaine blinked, "why would my diary be in your room?"  
"Oh, right," Kurt began to cry harder, "you wouldn't know unless Iris said something. I've been living at your place for the last two years."  
"You still haven't made up with your dad?" He frowned. "I thought you would be comfortable by now after your fight."  
"Fight?" Kurt huffed. "I never fought with him. I got kicked out, Blaine."  
"Sorry," Blaine replied, "I get things mixed up a lot. Why would your dad kick you out? I know Burt. He loves you."  
"It wasn't my dad that made me leave," Kurt continued to cry, "it was Carole. My dad had a second heart attack after everything that happened. It really hurt him when he found out about Carole's past."  
"He's not," Blaine panicked, "he's not dead, is he?"  
"What?" Kurt shook his head. "No, he's still alive, but he suffered some serious brain damage this time around. He knows who I am, but only barely. He can't remember Carole or Finn, the last fifteen years, or that he owns a garage."  
"Jesus," Blaine sucked in a deep breath, "I'm sorry, Kurt. Why would your stepmom kick you out? I've seen her with you before. She loves you."  
"Loved," Kurt corrected stiffly, "past tense. I may have crossed the line and said some things I regret-not that she'd kick me out for that. No, she kicked me out because of that whole ridiculous Muckracker story the school newspaper put out."  
"Muckracker?" Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Wait, are you back at McKinley now?"  
"No," Kurt rolled his shoulders, "I'm still at Dalton. I never went back there since Karofsky was there. The Muckracker is McKinley's newspaper-or rather tabloid-that spreads false rumors around like a wildfire."  
"And they started one about you?" Blaine guessed. "Even though you don't go to that school?"  
"Essentially yes," Kurt answered testily, "there was this ridiculous campaign drama going on during prom queen and king elections. Unfortunately, Lauren Zizes decided to run for prom queen. Turns out she's pretty ruthless and dug up dirt on her rivals like an old pro. Somehow, Lauren discovered that David Karofsky was gay and so was Santana. She publicly outed them. Put up posters everywhere of Karofsky kissing me in the locker room. It was a disaster."  
"I'm sorry," he repeated weakly, "I'm sorry."  
"It's not your fault," Kurt reached for his hand, "the press was all over Carole and Finn after your father was arrested. The media pounced on Deon Anderson's secret love child and how he planned to use Finn to get his fortune. They even made a movie about it. I believe you can currently see it on Lifetime."  
"Kurt," Blaine gripped his hand, "Kurt, what does this have to do with you getting kicked out?"  
"Right," he squeezed Blaine's hand harder, "anyways. When the photo came out, Dave claimed that we were dating to save face. He said we hid our relationship because of society's pressure and expectations. Complete bullshit, but everyone believed him. I think it was a misguided attempt to get my attention. I'm not sure. But Finn thought I had lied about the death threat, liking you, my transfer-because I was trying to get Karofsky to come out of the closet and be public with our relationship. Needless to say, I disagreed. It created a lot of problems between us. Too many for Carole. She also believed Finn and wanted me to go to therapy. New Directions even helped her stage a 'you're clearly a sociopath and need help' intervention. I refused to participate. Thus, we fought until she kicked me out. I see her sometimes when I go visit my dad, but we're not on speaking terms."  
Kurt's shoulders trembled as he broke into heavy sobs. Blaine tried to reach for him, but his weak arm flopped back down onto the bed. Sorrow and heartache consumed him as he watched his friend cry. Everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same. Blaine had a lot of things to catch up on. Kurt looked at him for a brief second and noticed his failing arm. The younger boy instantly leaned down and threw his arms around Blaine.  
The past two years had clearly been rough for his friend. Kurt had lost weight; so much that Blaine could see his hip bone slightly sticking out. He hugged him too tightly and rubbed circles into his back.  
"Blaine," Kurt breathed against his chest, "I can't believe you're really awake. I missed you so much."  
"I'm sorry," he returned morosely, "I can't believe you had to go through all of that."  
"I don't talk to anyone from McKinley anymore," Kurt started abruptly, "except Sam. But it's not important. You can come back to Dalton when you're healed. I bed they'd let you on the council with me this year."  
"Wait," Blaine grinned, "you're on the council?"  
"Yes," Kurt smiled brightly, "the Warblers won Nationals last year, Blaine. I'll have to show you a tape of our amazing competition season. I sort of talked them into some of my ideas last year and they worked! We beat Vocal Adrenaline because the Warblers let me convince them to do Seasons of Love and Hungry like the Wolf."  
The senior went on about the Warblers' impressive underdog victory last year. Blaine grinned like a loon when Kurt started talking. A genuine smile graced his friend's lips. He suspected that Kurt hadn't smiled so much in a long time. Eventually, their quiet conversation ebbed into comfortable silence. Kurt's tears had dried. Blaine held onto him for dear life, afraid he'd wake up and discover nothing at all was real.  
All of the information he'd learned during the last few hours left him confused and terrified. People would expect him to know these things. He wanted nothing more than to stay in his hospital room and hold the boy he loved. Everything else could wait; it had to.  
"I love you," he blurted suddenly, "I love you."  
"I love you too," Kurt stared into his eyes, "more than you know. I can't believe you're really awake. It's been so long."  
"I'm scared," he confessed, "I don't think I can handle this on my own."  
"You don't have to," Kurt muttered, "I'm here to help."  
"Kurt," Blaine started when he saw the pill bottles sticking out of Kurt's pocket, "what is that?"  
"Pills," Kurt rolled his eyes, "don't worry. Nothing too serious."  
"They're for your panic attacks," Blaine suggested after a moment, "right?"  
"Yes," Kurt looked surprised, "how did you know? Did Iris say something?"  
"No," Blaine replied carefully, "I dreamed about it. About you. You had a panic attack after your dad had an episode with his heart."  
"I can't believe it," Kurt whispered excitedly, "it's not entirely accurate, but yes! I had my first panic attack after Carole kicked me out. Mr. Schuester took me in afterwards."  
"I dreamed about that too," Blaine told him, "about you staying with Mr. Schuester. I was there too, though."  
"They say that coma patients can sometimes hear things when they're sleeping," Kurt considered, "there's been research studies done on patients that have been somewhat awake during their coma. You must have dreamed about some of the things I said to you. I was here a lot-especially after I read your diary."  
Blaine looked into Kurt's beautiful, deep eyes and smiled. Kurt returned the shared affection. They curled around one another. The staff ignored it when Kurt fell asleep in Blaine's hospital bed. After listening to their muted conversations, he realized why: they all felt sorry for Kurt. Apparently, he'd been stopping by so much they all figured it wouldn't hurt to break the rules just this once. Kurt Hummel had come to the hospital every single day for the last two years.

A/N: I spent weeks researching Traumatic Brain Injury this semester. Certain people have, in fact, been able to hear/see things they remember very clearly during their coma.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This chapter concludes this story and what I had planned all along, a serious story containing family members/loved ones dealing with the affects of severe Traumatic Brain Injury. If you give it a go, you'll discover that everything is explained in a rational manner here.

* * *

Kurt returned in the morning to visit, though he had no dark circles under his eyes. Blaine stared at him in confusion.  
"You look better," he reached for his hand, "all things considering."  
"What is it this time?" A sad smile tugged at Kurt's lips. "What tragedy has befallen me for that comment?"  
"What?" Blaine frowned. "You told me about Carole-how she kicked you out."  
"She didn't kick me out, Blaine," Kurt's fingers found his, "everything's fine. I'm fine, and the doctors say you'll probably be fine-with some more time."  
"I don't understand," he stared at his boyfriend, "I-you told me that's what happened."  
"No I didn't," Kurt corrected him, "you're just confused. It's a result of your head injury."  
"Oh," Blaine suddenly felt lost again, "why-why did I think that, then? I distinctly remember our conversation yesterday."  
"We talked about song selections for Nationals," Kurt smiled, "remember?"  
"You're singing lead at Nationals, right?" Blaine attempted. "That's what you said. You convinced the council to sing Hungry Like the Wolf."  
"No," Kurt sighed as if he'd hoped for a different response, "Blaine, I'm back at McKinley now. Please, try a little harder to remember."  
The request came off as more annoyed than anything else: like they had covered this topic countless times before. Blaine sifted through his memories; frustrated when all he could find were events from yesterday. An Asian doctor appeared in the doorway and smiled at Kurt as he made his way over.  
"Good morning, Mr. Anderson," he greeted warmly, "how are you feeling today? It's good to see you again, Kurt."  
"Hi Dr. Lee," Kurt smiled, "Blaine's insisting that I'm still a part of the Warblers and singing a solo at Nationals. I'm not sure he's believing me when I tell him otherwise."  
"Ah," the doctor regarded his patient for a moment, "Blaine's still making progress. What's important is the fact that you are the most consistent thing he does remember at this point. I know I've told you this before-but it's crucial you keep coming to visit and spend time with him. I know it's hard for you to deal with this type of injury, but his mind needs the connections."  
"I'm right here," Blaine interrupted, "you don't have to talk over me."  
"We aren't talking over you," Kurt informed him, "you just don't remember things correctly."  
"I'm happy to discuss it with you again," Dr. Lee sat down in a nearby chair and pulled out a clipboard, "we'll go over it as many times as necessary until you can start recalling the past accurately."  
"I remember what happened," Blaine defended coldly, "I was in a coma. Kurt's been coming to see me for the last two years. Where's my mother? She'll tell you."  
Dr. Lee extended his broad hand and quickly squeezed Kurt's shoulder. Blaine didn't like the odd, knowing look they exchanged with each other.  
"You weren't in a coma," the doctor explained gently, "and you've been here with us in Columbus for only five weeks."  
"You were in the hospital before that," Kurt chimed in, "near your family's vacation house. You spent two weeks there first before your mother moved you here."  
Suddenly, breathing became difficult. Blaine's heart thundered against his chest as he let go of Kurt's hand and gripped the quilt covering his body. The blanket looked familiar, though he couldn't place it. Blue walls decorated with band and Buckeye posters decorated the room. Flowers and plants sat on the various shelves. It looked completely different from the room he had woken up in yesterday. Confusion and fear seized his body.  
"Where am I?" It sounded weak even to his own ears. "I don't know where I am!"  
"Yes you do," Dr. Lee soothed him softly, "you've been here for a while now."  
"You're in Columbus," Kurt grabbed his shaking hand again, "at the Ohio Vally Center for Brain Injury Prevention and Rehabilitation."  
"It's a part of the OSU campus," Dr. Lee confirmed, "don't worry, Blaine, you're safe here."  
The hospital's name rattled through his befuddled mind. Memories flashed briefly, but he couldn't make heads or tails of them. Blaine pulled the blanket up to his torso and looked at Kurt. Soulful blue-green eyes met his. They looked different than they had before; not as sad or dark. He didn't understand. Everything had felt so real yesterday.  
"I'm still seventeen then?" He tried for casual. "I'm not nineteen?"  
"No," Kurt rubbed his fingers against his arm, "you're still the same age. Still as beautiful as before."  
"What about Finn?" Blaine asked shyly. "I haven't seen him."  
"Do you want to see him?" Kurt puzzled. "I haven't heard that request before."  
The confusion surprised Blaine, though he couldn't bring himself to ask if he had just imagined being half-brothers with Finn. Nothing he thought had happened had turned out to be right so far. What if he had imagined his father hitting him? Blaine shook, certain he'd been correct about that particular fact.  
"My father," he closed his eyes, "he hit me, right? Or am I imagining that too?"  
"Blaine," Kurt ran his hand through Blaine's disheveled hair, "it's okay. Yes, he hit you. Your mother told me she tried to hide our relationship from him, but he saw the tape from Regionals."  
"Just like she did after I came out," Blaine recalled vividly, "at Sadie-Hawkins. He lost it then, too."  
A stricken look crossed over Kurt's pale face. No, he had never told anyone about that-how his dad had hit him for the first time after he'd gotten home from the dance. Blaine distinctly remembered being slammed against the wall in the study and an arm being twisted behind his back.  
"He hit me," he cried softly, "I remember."  
"Yes," Iris Anderson affirmed from the doorway, "that is true. My husband did hit him after that dance. He apologized later on and promised never to do it again. Like a fool, I believed him. We lied to everyone about what happened."  
"We told them that some jocks cornered my date and I," Blaine nodded as he focused his gaze on his mother, "I lied."  
"It's okay," Kurt promised as tears fell from his eyes, "he can't hurt you anymore."  
"That's good, right?" Iris stepped into the room and stood behind Dr. Lee. "That he remembers this."  
"Yes," Dr. Lee's lips settled into a frown. "It's a promising start."  
"He hit me again," Blaine informed them, "after Regionals. He doesn't want me anymore."  
Uncontrollable sobs racked his body. Kurt pulled him into a tight embrace as Doctor Lee stepped outside to talk to his mother. Blaine cried so hard his chest hurt, but he refused to let Kurt go once the memory came crashing back.  
_ Pavarotti's funeral had ended without a hitch. Blaine kissed Kurt goodbye and headed home, love filling his heart. Somehow he'd managed to miss just how wonderful the countertenor was for all this time. Their relationship had blossomed into something deeper and more intense overnight. Blaine loved how Kurt's lips tasted when they exchanged sweet, passionate kisses. The organic lip balm he used tasted like honey and left a pleasant aftertaste on his tongue.  
A television blared in the living room as baseball players ran across bases after an unexpected fly ball. Loud steps greeted Blaine when he crossed the threshold. Deon Anderson stormed into the foyer and roughly shoved him into the closet door. Blaine cried out in pain as his wrist connected with the wood. An audible crack filled the small entrance way.  
"Think I wouldn't find out?" Deon snarled coldly. "About your damn fairy boyfriend? I thought I made it clear last year-no dating until you're out of my house. Christ, you're stupid!"  
Blaine cried out as strong hands spun him around. His father's breath smelled like whiskey.  
"Fag," Deon spat in disgust, "you're nothing but a disgusting fag!"  
He screamed when a fist slammed into his face. Pain erupted in his head and his eye immediately began to swell. Blaine sank to the floor in a boneless heap, unable to do anything but stare at the blood leaking into his eye.  
"Get out," Deon hissed, "I'm going to loose my birth right because of this. 'Cause you couldn't pretend to be straight until you graduated."  
"Dad," Blaine whispered, "dad, please." _  
_"I don't want to see your face again," his father decided, "I don't want you here anymore. Get out!"  
The door swung open. Blaine whimpered as his father roughly picked him up by his jacket and dragged him into the cold night. Rain fell lightly from the sky. The door frame rattled noisily and shut with a terrifying bang. Blue hues of twilight surrounded him. After several minutes, Blaine struggled to his feet and stumbled blindly down the driveway. A small bus station existed near the center of town. Tourists frequently used the bus lines to visit family members in the area.  
He started walking towards the distant city lights, hoping the bus station would still be open by the time he reached it. Pain throbbed through his head. Blaine kept moving forward, determined to reach Kurt's house. Surely they would take him in. Comfort him and help him figure out what to do. He'd have to tell them the truth: that his father had hit him once again after he had promised to never do so again. His father had hit Blaine for dating a boy that moved him beyond words and into deep, pure feelings. _  
"He hit me," he cried again, "he hit me and he promised not to. I feel sick."  
Blaine's stomach churned and he threw up into a plastic bowl that Kurt quickly pushed under his chin.  
"It's all right," Kurt promised and rocked him, "you're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore. Dr. Lee! I need help!"  
"I lied," Blaine clutched Kurt's red shirt, "I lied and told you that I was out. He knew I was gay. He knew, but I wasn't supposed to talk about it-especially not after the dance. I couldn't."  
"I paged a nurse," Dr. Lee hurried back into the room, "he's having a flashback."  
"This has never happened before," Iris frowned, "usually he just recounts whatever's going through his brain. What's happening?"  
"I'm not sure," Dr. Lee replied, "but it could be a good thing. He may be making a breakthrough."  
Kurt continued to rock Blaine as he suffered through the flashback. It hurt to remember his father like that: angry and furious because he had a son that liked boys instead of girls. The hospital room started to fade when a nurse appeared and slid a needle into his IV line. Darkness consumed him, even though he wanted to stay awake.  
"I don't want to forget," Blaine whispered to Kurt as the drug took effect, "what if I forget again?"  
"It's okay if you do," Kurt replied earnestly, "I'll still be here when you wake up."  
Orange city lights crept under the closed curtains. Blaine woke to their soft glow and slender arms holding him. Kurt had crawled into the bed sometime during his sojourn into nightmares. The bed was hardly made for two people. For the first time in his life, Blaine liked being short and small. It meant that the boy he loved could squeeze into the single bed without too much trouble.  
"Kurt," he croaked, "I didn't forget this time."  
Joy filled his heart as he lay in his boyfriend's arms. Maybe he could learn to live with this injury, if he didn't forget every important detail about his life and stopped believing the disorientating dreams. Dr. Lee had mentioned hallucinations earlier.  
"You're awake," Kurt breathed against his neck, "what do you remember?"  
"Everything," Blaine muttered, "mostly, you. You were always there."  
"Blaine," Kurt stroked his cheek, "you really are starting to remember."  
"I think so," he replied uncertainly, "Finn's not my half-brother, is he?"  
"What?" Kurt blinked. "No, he's not. Did you dream that?"  
"I think so," Blaine considered, "I was hallucinating, right?"  
"In a sense," he answered, "yes. Brain injuries can cause hallucinations. You've been experiencing extreme disorientation, nerve damage, and confusion. Dr. Lee is a neurologist. He specializes in TBI."  
"How do I know that this is real?" Blaine demanded hoarsely. "What if this is just another dream?"  
"I'm real," Kurt confirmed stoically, "look at your hand. You wanted me to write something there earlier. Do you remember what it was?"  
Blaine sent him a baffled look, but checked the permanent ink scrawled into his palm. _Courage. _  
"I'm a coward," he confessed, "and I gave you terrible advice. I told you to stand up to your bully when I couldn't even confront my own. I didn't even have the courage to tell him about us."  
"You're not a coward," Kurt insisted, "you helped me, Blaine-when no one else could. You saved me. I need you. I still do. You're braver than you think. You're starting to remember things again. I didn't think you would; but you proved me wrong."  
"I love you," Blaine blurted ungraciously, "I love you."  
"I love you too."  
The stillness calmed him down and he drifted into sleep despite his attempts to stay awake out of an all-encompassing fear that he'd forget things again. Blaine had to remember what had happened today. Kurt needed him. Restless dreams claimed his agitated mind. Blaine woke to the smell of eggs and toasted bread. Kurt nibbled on some fruit while Iris read a paper in a nearby chair.  
"Good morning, sunshine," Iris beamed, "ready for your therapy session?"  
"Therapy?" Blaine puzzled. "Therapy for what?"  
"Dr. Lee will come to work on building your cognitive skills," Iris sighed, "for your head injury."  
"Did you forget?" Kurt seemed anxious. "Again?"  
Blaine stared at his eggs and bit his lip. Some memories seemed distant and unreachable, but one thing stood out in his confusion; Kurt.  
"You love me," he smiled, "and you're here. You're always here."  
"I love you," Kurt grinned back, "and you're right. I'll be here for as long as it takes."  
"Where's your dad?" Blaine frowned. "Wasn't he here yesterday?"  
"No," Kurt laughed, "he's in Lima with Carole and Finn. Dad let me move here to Columbus for the summer to help you with your therapy."  
"Dr. Lee believes that seeing him everyday will help you recover," Iris waved her hand at his boyfriend, "you're getting better."  
"I don't know," Blaine admitted, "what am I recovering from? I can't remember."  
"Head injury," Kurt focused on his eyes, "you have a head injury. I guess you did forget."  
"I guess I did," Blaine wondered what had happened yesterday, "I don't want to keep forgetting!"  
Frustration fueled his anger and he pushed away the plate of eggs. It crashed to the floor, shattering the glass plate. Kurt stood and moved to sit closer. Blaine instantly felt calmer as he remembered the words that they had whispered to one another last night.  
"You told me you love me," he repeated after a moment, "right? You said that."  
"Yes," Kurt placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, "I said that. Don't be so frustrated. Your memory will get better. Dr. Lee is one of the best."  
"I want you to get the best care you can," Iris cleaned up the plate on the floor, "and you're getting it."  
Dr. Lee visited shortly after breakfast. Blaine introduced himself to the doctor, unsure if they had met before. Dr. Lee said they had known each other for a while and asked if he remembered anything from the day before. He went over Burt's visit, which proved to be false, and the three meaningful words Kurt had uttered. Dr. Lee seemed pleased that he could recall them. The graying doctor left after lunch to see another patient and a tall blond girl appeared in the doorway.  
"Alyssa," Blaine stared at his sister, "you came to visit. I thought you were at Princeton?"  
"Santana and I came to see Kurt," the blond frowned, "but Santana is in the bathroom. It's that time of the month, you know. My name isn't Alyssa. It's Brittney S. Pearce. Have the aliens replaced your brain yet?"  
"What?" Blaine looked over at Kurt. "What?"  
"Alyssa is someone he thinks is real," Kurt explained to the blond, "he thinks she's his sister."  
"That lives with a prince?" Brittney looked hopeful. "A real live one?"  
"No," Kurt grinned, "Princeton is a university. Why don't we go get some lunch?"  
"Can I come?" Blaine pleaded. "They have wicked sandwiches at the Lima Bean."  
"We can't go to the Lima Bean," an attractive Latina girl informed him, "we have to eat here since you lost all of your gay marbles."  
"We'll go downstairs," Kurt offered and glared at the newcomer, "you love their pizza."  
"I'm Blaine," he greeted the Latina as Kurt helped him out of bed, "I don't think we've met."  
"Santana," the Latina rolled her eyes, "and we've met. About two dozen times now."  
Light chatter and easy banter filled the hallways as they headed towards the elevators. Blaine held Kurt's hand, afraid he'd forget that such a beautiful boy loved him unconditionally.  
"I won't forget," Blaine promised in the elevator, "that you love me."  
"I know," Kurt smiled brightly. "I know you won't. I'll remind you everyday in case you do."


End file.
